


It's always the Quiet Ones

by Brennah_K



Series: Rise of the White Queen [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, OOC! Neville (with explanation), Slavery, SubHarry, SubSeverus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennah_K/pseuds/Brennah_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had been watched constantly since first year, but with everyone's eyes always on him, it was hard to see who had been watching the closest and who was tired of just watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Hot Water

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to FF.net.

"Agghhhh," Harry barely stifled a painful groan as he shut his eyes tightly, clenched his teeth, and forced himself to stay under the nearly scalding water.

The water might have been acid for all it stung the infected cuts and inflamed wounds that he had not been able to reach throughout the summer. The pain it caused felt like he was almost using boiling water, but outside of going to Madam Pomfrey, Harry knew of no other way to treat the damage that his uncle had inflicted on his back without revealing the treatment he'd been recieving from home.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned dropping his forehead to the shower's cool tiles as he bit his lips to keep from crying out and waking his dorm mates.

If things didn't improve soon, he'd be forced to go to Madam Pomfrey, but he hated the thought of her or anyone else knowing. Once, he had hoped that having someone else know would make a difference. That was a false dream, though, and fell through as soon as he told Headmaster Dumbledore. Since then, Harry hadn't bothered to tell anyone else. What would it matter?

Dumbledore was the Headmaster of their school and the official guardian of the students while they were away from their families; he was in the Wizengamot; he was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix; he was the only wizard in the world that Voldemort was afraid of; so no one in the wizarding world was going to go against him when he said that it was safer for everyone if Harry stayed with the Dursley's every summer. The man would just let the twinkle in his eyes go dim, and they would bow and scrape and bloody well stupefy Harry and toss him back into the tool shed of Privet Drive, where his uncle had moved him since the Headmaster informed his relatives of Sirus's death. And somehow, he knew that would be worse – that would hurt more - than them not knowing.

A cool hand on the back of his neck startled Harry to the point that he flinched and almost jumped away, until he heard Neville's voice.

"Hold still, Harry."

"Wha…" Harry tried to turn his face and look at Neville, but it was fairly hopeless: he'd left his glasses by his bed, and despite biting his lips, it still hurt to think of Sirus - and he had been crying pretty heavily.

"I said hold still." Neville answered firmly using the thumb on the hand holding his neck to turn Harry's chin back to the wall. "These are badly infected and I need to debride several before I can cast the right healing charms."

Harry didn't know whether to fight the hold Neville had on his neck, deny whatever Neville thought he was seeing, demand that Neville stay out of his business, or just let Neville do what he was going to do – something that Harry couldn't do himself - and beg him to keep it a secret. The choice was taken out of his hands when he realized that Neville's grip was rather tighter than he'd expected and he really didn't feel like he had the energy to fight his friend. If it had been a death eater attack, he might have been able to put up a token fight, but he had just gone a little too long without proper sleep and nutrition to really put up a meaningless fight over something that he knew (at least very subconsciously) that he needed.

"This is going to hurt, but I can't give you any pain relieving potions just yet." Neville gave the brief warning before casting a silent spell that turned the shower waters into tight funnels of water running across his body, opening, flushing, and rinsing clean Harry's abscessed wounds. Between the pain and the smell of almost rotting flesh that filled the room as the waters opened his oldest injuries, Harry nearly passed out and was grateful that Neville was there to catch him, even if that meant their unclothed forms rubbed against each other in a manner that caused Harry to flush brilliantly and avoid Neville's eyes.

When the horrific smell, leeched contaminants, drained puss were finally washed down the drains and Harry's blood ran clear, Neville carefully reached around him and turned the water off. Harry was still gasping from the pain when Neville summoned something from the pockets of sleeping robe that he'd folded over the divider between the bath and changing areas. After shifting Harry in his grip, he studied Harry's injuries with a surprisingly practiced eye and selectively rubbed a topical potion over the less infected ones. Working gently and patiently over his friend, Neville spread the potion until close to a quarter of the smaller cuts and sores were healed.

He was hardly surprised that Harry had been subdued the entire time. Anyone who had spent any amount of time observing Harry, instead of listening to the rumors about Harry, would realize that Harry hid everything about his summer life with his relatives – even from his closest friends. There were clues to it, but Harry was quite efficient at distracting anyone with even the slightest suspicion, with a rapid, often-pointless moods wing or even more pointless arguments.

'No doubt,' Neville thought, 'he's trying to figure out how to distract and deny yet again, he'll probably try to swear me to secrecy then spend the next month trying to down play it and make it seem like it's not anything worse than he'd get at quidditch, but …'

Neville could not have been more correct about Harry's intentions, and cut him off before that could happen: "Listen, Hare, everybody has their secrets, and I'll keep yours…"

"Neville," Harry groaned finally mustering the strength to stand up straight even though he had to wince as he did, then continued: "Come on. Don't make it seem like it's some big secret or something. My cousin and I just fought a lot over the summer."

"Oh, so you don't have such a big problem with everyone knowing that you got up two hours early just to torture yourself with hot water that wouldn't do much of anything with the shape that those were in. So, you're not going to have a problem with going to see Madame Pomfrey about it, then?"

"Uhh…alright. I will, but you know that she's always busy with the new firsties this time of year. The lot of them can't make it up and down stairs without near breaking their legs can they?" Harry kept his eyes anchored to the peaks of Neville's cheeks so that it would appear that he was meeting Neville's eyes, without having to do so.

"Right." Neville answered in a tone just off of sardonic, "That's quite what I thought. As I was saying, Hare, I will keep your secret on one condition…"

"What? No! It's not that big of a bloody..." Harry's eyes flashed rebelliously as he protested.

"No," Neville cut Harry off sharply with a tight grip on the nape of his neck. "Hear me out. I was saying that I won't reveal this to Pomfrey or anyone else without your permission – Ron and Hermione included – if you cooperate and allow me to try to heal the raw meat you call a back before you go running off on your next adventure."

Harry gulped several times, wearily trying to swallow down his initial reaction to being given an ultimatum. It wasn't that Neville's offer was anything but fair; more than fair really, because he knew in Neville's place, he would have probably forced his friend to go to Madam Pomfrey. In fact, it was giving him several things that he really knew he needed: confidentiality, access to someone who could cast pretty strong healing spells, and someone who knew enough of the situation to provide him a cover if he so needed one. It was just that it was an ultimatum, and Harry resented being maneuvered into anything. He already had too little control of his life.

Of course he knew he needed to have his back healed. He wasn't dense. At the same time though, he deeply, abundantly, and absolutely resented being manipulated. Was there really nothing in his life that he could control… not even his own body and his own pain?

Recognizing the direction of Harry's almost petulant mood, Neville sighed in obvious disappointment, causing Harry's eyes to flash guiltily. Gently tightening his hand on Harry's neck to massage several pressure points, Neville took advantage of it, distracting Harry to catch his friend's face by the chin and force it up until their eyes truly met.

"Look at me!" he snapped in soft serious tone and continued in a voice thick with injected disappointment: "Hare, don't be a prat about this. I'm giving you what you want, my silence, and the only thing it would cost you is the decision to hold still while I do something that you can't do for yourself. Or, can you really look me in the eye and tell me that you really like being in pain?"

Hary trembled almost unnoticeably in Neville's grip, but even if Harry's shaking had not alerted Neville, Harry's tense silence would have given him pause. Searching Harry's eyes, Neville was somehow not surprised when Harry cut his eyes away.

"It was a rhetorical question, Hare, but from your reaction, I think you need to answer my question. Do you like being in pain?"

His friend's breath quickened as he chewed his lip and tried to avoid Neville's eyes. But, other than tightening his grip on Harry's chin and refusing to let Harry look away, Neville waited silently… until Harry realized that he really had no choice but to answer.

"I-I d-do-n't re-really, li-ke it, I mean, being hurt… too much, but sometimes, when – when I can't stop thinking about Si-Sir-us and… other things… being hurt some sort of helps … helps me focus on something else."

Neville blinked slowly as he considered Harry's stuttered broken answer then released his hold on Harry's chin and nape to run his hands down Harry's shoulders until they closed around Harry's wrists and turned so that his palms were facing up. After lifting Harry's wrists and studying his friend's forearms carefully, Neville finally sighed in short-lived relief.

"No." Harry answered dryly, "I've never needed to cut myself; it was always easier to just walk a little too slowly or sigh a little too loudly around my … cousin, and he'd take care of the rest."

"Somehow, I suspect you would have been safer cutting yourself. But, that's a moot point, there are other ways- less debilitating ways – that you can achieve the same ends without bollixing your chances to defend yourself and others during an unexpected attack."

Nodding when Harry's expression sobered at the comment and at the realization that his … habits could have just as easily gotten his friends killed as he had gotten Sirus killed, Neville distracted him from the most likely path his thought would have taken – by insisting, "After we take care of your back, I'll be happy to show you a few methods that I'm familiar with."

Neville's comment ended with a grin when Harry's head shot up in surprise.

"Let's get you healed up first because several of your wounds are deep and the exercises can be more strenuous."

"Oh, okay. So, what do I do?"

"So, you'll cooperate?"

"Yesss, Nev-il-le," Harry sighed, wearily extending Neville's name in a way that caused Neville to arch an eyebrow with amusement even as Harry continued: "I'm not completely ignorant of the fact that healing my back is a good thing, or that you'd rather have Madam Pomfrey doing this because you trust her more than yourself. So, yeah, I'll cooperate."

"Good. Then, keep your shirt off and go lay back down – on your stomach, of course. I'll be in… in a moment to cast a healing spell, but you need to leave them exposed to the open air for a bit. Then, I'll want you to try to sleep."

"Can't – Double potions today."

Don't worry, I'll stop by the head table and let them know that you were up all night with nightmares and weren't up to coming down. As long as you do as I ask, no one needs to know a word to the wiser."

"I get it, I get it. Neville, I'm really not that dense."

"If you expect me to believe that your cousin and just your cousin did this, then I have to question that statement."

"Nev… Please." Neville quirked an eyebrow at the shortening of his name, but didn't comment as Harry continued. "It's just easier if every thinks that. Please let it drop."

"Harry, just be warned. I'll help you with anything you need, but if you lie to me again- I'll let the gnome out of the bag, we'll see what happens to the garden then."

"The gnome out…" Harry paused cocking his head to the side as he thought about the wizard phrase for a moment. "The gnome out… the cat out… Okay, I get it. You're right: letting the 'gnome' out of the bag would muck everything up. But, you won't tell anyone?"

Smiling softly at Harry's need for reassurance, Neville shook his head gently as he confirmed: "As long as you do what I say, I can keep it just between us. Now, get to bed."

Not seeming to know what else to say, Harry nodded and slipped through the partly opened doorway.

As soon as the door closed behind Harry, Neville cast strong locking, privacy, and silencing charms before turning and staring into the most shadowed corner of the bathing room.

"Well, I concede." A sardonic voice answered Neville as Professor Snape stepped away from the corner, lowering the hood of his own invisibility cloak.

"That boy needs a keeper, but that's hardly a new concession."

"Will you agree to be our monitor then?"

"No."

"Explain." Neville ordered in a steal-edged voice.

The potions master sneered, "Quite an impressive tone, Mr. Longbottom. I would not have believed that you had it in you to mouth off. But, that paltry show of nerve is far from enough to convince me you are capable of dominating an arrogant, self-righteous, brat, like Potter, who constantly skirts the Headmaster's precautions and defies Voldemort on a regular basis. How do you think you'll get Potter to bow that stiff neck of his when even the Dark Lord can't. You think you can make yourself his master – ridiculous."

Carefully suppressing his temper, Neville respond with a sneer almost equal to his professor: "Be honest, Professor. That's not your question, and I wasn't blind all last year- I saw what you were doing, or more to the point what you weren't capable of doing. You want to know how I intend to make Harry my sub when you failed so miserably last year."


	2. Inch by Inch

Carefully suppressing his temper, Neville responded with a sneer almost equal to his professor's: "Be honest, Professor. That's not your question,and I wasn't blind all last year- I saw what you were doing, or more to the point what you weren't capable of doing. You want to know how I intend to make Harry my sub when you failed so miserably last year."

"Oh, please. Enlighten me: do you truly imagine that I would allow myself to fail at such a task? Were I even so fool as to set myself to it?" Professor Snape snarled furiously.

"Allow yourself to fail?" Neville smirked, taking the man's anger as the only confirmation he needed.

"No, I don't seriously 'imagine' that you wanted to fail, or in your terms – that you allowed yourself to fail. Quite the opposite, in fact. You were practically salivating at the thought of having the spitting image of James Potter cowed and crawling at your beck and call – and that's precisely where you bolloxed things. You only ever saw a shadow of his father and tried to use his father's weaknesses, arrogance, and pride to dominate him, but Harry's not his father nor are his weaknesses."

"Ridiculous. He's the very mirror of the man." Snape argued, not realizing that he had failed to deny Neville's claim.

"Is he?" Neville challenged idly.

"Absolutely. Down to the rebellious glare, the boy is every inch his father's son."

"Every inch?"

He could see from Snape's expression that the professor immediately recognized the allusion; though, he refused to answer. Neville, however, bluntly refused to let it drop.

"Perhaps you were trying to respect his privacy and closed your eyes to the scars that covered his torso like the patterns of a lacewing?"

...

So, of course, you obviously would have failed to notice that they were rather conveniently placed where they would be hidden by his clothing?"

…

"I suppose, though, with the mass of open and abscessed wounds on his back, it was easier to miss the fact that he had lost so much weight you could count his ribs and vertebrae?"

…

"And … as badly messed up as his back was, there was really no logical reason to assume that you might have focused on his arm enough to notice the bumps just a palm's width above his wrist where the bones had apparently been broken and allowed to heal without the benefit of splinting, setting, or any other crude muggle intervention."

…

"Was there?" Neville raised a curious eyebrow as he paused, again, for the professor's response.

...

"Then there are his eyes, but as I can't remember ever noticing you looking into his eyes, it would make sense that you wouldn't notice that they're even more sunken this year than they were last year."   
…

"Perhaps, I'm wrong, though, and you did notice?" Neville challenged wryly."

 

"No? Did you also miss noticing that he's still wearing the outfits he had third year? Yes, of course, I suspect you've probably missed that as well..." Neville continued to press in spite of Professor Snape's silence.

"But we don't have time for this, and nothing I say will convince you if you won't open your eyes to it. It's a moot point in any event: whether or not you decide to monitor the process, I intend to claim and keep Harry."

Finally regaining his mental footing in the face of Neville's biting challenge, Professor Snape raised an eyebrow as he sneered maliciously: "Forgetting certain legalities aren't you, Longbottom? Little details like the fact that these sort of arrangements between minors are only legal if supervised by an objective adult? Or perhaps, how Potter might react should your little plan come to light?"

"You might think so, but I assure you I have taken into account several aspects that should easily override the legalities you've mentioned and, further, have arranged for them to occur should anyone interfere with my pursuit of Harry. As far as his reaction, I have amply prepared for that as well."

"We shall see." The arrogant sneer laid heavily in the professor's tone at his response, but Neville was sure that he detected a note of curiosity as well.

"Then, you'll be our monitor?"

"As amusing as it would be watching you attempt to fumble your around the narrow-minded and backward legalities that have been placed on such relationships, I believe the Headmaster would like to avoid the inevitable chaos you would bring down on the school – if not the wizarding world - should we let you run that course. More to the point, I shall derive great pleasure in observing your exercise in futility, and should you, by some ludicrous whim of fate, bring the boy to heel, that too would serve my amusement ... For I can thing of no greater indignity than to be brought low by the likes of you. I could even savor the thought of him on his knees trembling and whimpering for your paltry attentions."

Professor Snape's sardonic enjoyment died on the vine, however, when Neville refused to be baited and simply nodded as an enigmatic smile curved his lips.

"Good, I'm glad that we understand each other." He commented lightly before then slipped out.

ブレンキン

When he reached their dorm, Harry was lying on his stomach as ordered and half asleep. Neville slipped through the curtains Indian style on the bed beside him, waking Harry as he did.

"Whhhaaat took you so long, Nev?" He yawned.

"Just clearing the air a bit, so noone's a word to the wiser, Hare. Now, you'll need to grip the headboard and press your toes to the footboard, so I can use a sticking charm on them."

"Nev?" Harry's voice took on a tense note as he heard his friend cast silencing and notice me not spells around the bed.

"Hare, it's okay; just trust me. The healing spell won't hurt, it might even tickle a bit, but it's quite important that you don't move around at all when I am trying to seal the wound. If you move to much, it won't heal right, and mediwitchs usually put a sticking charm on someone's entire body, but somehow, I didn't think you would like that."

"N- no, I mean no, your right. Okay. Will this do?" Harry stretched his hands and feet until they were tight against the headboard and footboard.

"Yeah, Hare, that's good." Neville answered with an approving stroke across Harry's shoulders as he cast the sticking charms. When the charms were cast, Harry stiffened slightly, instinctively pulling at the charms until Neville's continued stroking calmed him.

"Ready?" Neville asked softly from above his right shoulder.

When Harry nodded softly, Neville began casting the healing spells on the biggest and deepest wound. All the while, he kept his free hand slowly moving across Harry's shoulders in a long comforting sweep.

ブレンキン


	3. Though Whispered

Pressing his forehead into the pillow with a mournful sigh, Harry tried not to let Neville see how depressed he was about it being their last healing session.

He hadn't even realized it until they were in the shower, de-briding the last wound that had really almost healed itself. When it hit, though, he was immediately grateful for the shower spray, which would hopefully hide the jolt of tears that had caught him by surprise as he realized that everything would have to go back to normal - now that his back was healed.

Normal – meaning that while everyone would be keeping a watch on him to see what could be done about whatever new 'adventure' that would spring up with him in the center, no one would be caring for or about him any more. Neville's healing sessions had brought them closer as friends, but as Harry had seen with Ron, once the threats (danger, task, adventure, or whatever you wanted to call any of the episodes that regularly screwed around with his life) were over – that closeness fell into a fairly superficial friendship where they would grouse about Snape and homework, but where Harry no longer felt he could discuss his secrets or his fears.

With Neville, he had begun to feel like he could, but things were ending too quickly, and he would never know.

Before he realized it, Harry was rubbing his eyes into the pillows to dry them before Neville returned from the bathroom. He simply had to think of something else. Neville had been so great about dealing with his back, he couldn't start acting like a prick now. Almost unbidden, the memory of their first healing session came to mind, reminding him how much Neville had actually put up with.

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After Neville had finished healing the worst and deepest wound, he had broken the news that the healing was going to take quite a bit longer than Harry had assumed.

When Harry had heard the news, he had acted a regular prat – pouting at being told that he would have to get up early every morning over several weeks to debride the remaining wounds then heal them, one by one, so that both his natural and magical immune systems could taper off normally instead of being turned on other systems before his body could recognize the need to shut them down. Immediately forgetting what Neville had done for him only moments before, Harry had practically seethed at the idea of letting anyone control his actions for that long.

It had been a terrible shock when Neville seemed to read his thoughts and interrupted them with a sharp stinging slap on his hip that easily rivaled any that his uncle had given him to catch his attention.

"Stop sulking and repeat after me," Neville ordered in a harsh tone, "I'm sorry, Neville, for whining about it taking longer than I had expected for you to heal my back when I would have only spent the same amount of time turning my back into rancid, boiled meat before being thrown into the infirmary wing, probably in a fevered state, when the infection inevitably got out of control."

"Aww. Nev. Come on. I wasn't whining. I didn't even say anything."

"Yes, you did. You may not have said anything verbally, but you practically screamed it physically. Muggles aren't the only ones to read body language, you know. Wizards and witches pay particularly close attention to it, and yours just read as a slap in the face… I know this is difficult for you, but even if I'm 'just Neville', I do deserve your gratitude for putting myself out for you - in a way that could get me into quite a bit of trouble. You don't think they let just anyone perform these types of spells, do you? Think about it; why hasn't Hermione done this type of spell if anyone were allowed to?"

"Nev, I am sorry." Harry murmured, in a soft mournful tone, as his cheeks flushed with the admission he was about to make: "I'm just not at my best when I'm hurting. I'm a right bloody prat, to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful."

"I realize that, of course, and I have seen you act like this with the professors and Madam Pomfrey as well, but Hare, there's a difference. I'm not one of them. It is not my paid and assigned responsibility to look out for students and see to their needs. It is patently not my place or duty to get up early and cast some seriously depleting incantations, even before breakfast, for the sole reason that you can't face exposing yourself to Madam Pomfrey."

Harry had immediately paled as he tried to scoot out from under Neville's hand - somehow missing the fact that despite his friend's seemingly angry words, Neville's hand had never left off from its gentle stroke across his shoulders.

"Gods, I'm sorry! I didn't think, Neville. Really I didn't. I didn't realize your side of it. Of course, you're not 'just Neville', and I do appreciate this. Of course, I do. I didn't know the spells took a lot out of you. I wouldn't have asked you to… I-I c-ca-n go to Madam Pomfrey, a-nd I will… you – you were right: someone … I could get someone hurt… or worse if I'm not up to it." Harry stammered guiltily knowing that he would have to go to Madam Pomfrey and face once and for all the question of whether she or the Weasleys or anyone, really, even cared for him enough to stop his uncle.

The more he thought about it, the more morose he became, certain that if anyone did, they would have stopped things before now. His bruises and scars had been there the year before, and the year before that, but Madam Pomfrey had said nothing. The Weasleys knew that his aunt and uncle had locked him away and not fed him regularly, but hadn't seemed to care. He'd told Hermione enough – hoping that she'd tell her parents, but his friend seemed to have forgotten. So, he really already knew, didn't he? All that he had to do now was just face up to it.

Harry had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that Neville's second, lighter slap shocked him into jerking away so hard that he rolled off the bed with a startled squeak.

"Stop that." Neville had chastised him again, but in softer tones, "Drowning yourself in anxiety isn't one bit better than sulking. I said it wasn't my responsibility, and it isn't, but it is my choice – so don't get suddenly frightened that I'm just going to abandon you. I simply wanted you to recognize that I will not put up with the same load of tripe you throw at some of them."

"Nev. I'm sorry. I really, really am, and I will try not to act that way again." Harry had apologized almost desperately, knowing that he was being a coward about it, but not quite able to come to grips with his fear of finally knowing how the others felt about him with certainty.

"And?"

"And?" Harry had paused at Neville's prompt and reviewed everything they'd said, trying to figure out what more Neville had wanted before starting again, hopefully, "And, I really will try to remember that you are helping me by choice and don't have to put up with my … uhmmm …shit." He had finished with and almost crimson blush that drew an amused smile to Neville's lips as he nodded.

"Good, that's important, too. … And?"

Harry had run through their coversation again with growing frustration, nervously chewing his lip.

He was almost certain that he'd covered everything, but from Neville's prompt knew that he was missing something, but just not seeing it. Over and over, he repeated their conversation mentally until he'd noticed Neville's hand slow and stop its stroking. He'd shaken his head several times desperately trying to clear it so he could remember, unknowingly letting Neville notice that he'd worried his lips so much they were bruising, but finally he had to give up and admit that he couldn't figure it out.

He'd been so sure that it must have been something important or Neville wouldn't have prompted him to remember it that he had nearly broke out in a relieved giggle when Neville finally hinted: "Perhaps there was something you forgot to repeat?"

"I'm sorry, Neville, for being a complete berk and whining like a first year about it taking longer than I had expected for you to heal my back. I would have only spent the same amount of time turning my back into stinking, rancid, slab of boiled meat before collapsing, probably in potions, knowing my luck, and being thrown into the infirmary wing, burning with a fever and being a royal pain in everyone's arse, when the infection inevitably got out of control. I really, really am sorry." Harry repeated emphatically before dropping his head into his pillow with relief.

Compared to the intentionally humiliating lines that his uncle made him repeat, Neville's request was simple and well deserved, and Harry didn't even have to think twice about whether he should repeat it for his friend.

To Harry's relief, it had seemed like Neville had not needed to think twice about accepting his apology either and quickly went back to stroking Harry's shoulders. A short time later, Neville had ended his gentle strokes, but Harry had hardly noticed – having quickly dropped off to sleep, feeling more comfortable than he had throughout the entire summer.

ブレンキン

In the weeks that had followed, their healing sessions had fallen into the pattern set by the first: debriding, a topical pain ointment, a healing spell, a comfortable discussion, and Harry finally soothed to sleep by Neville's shoulder rubs. Following the nights he'd had nightmares or visions, Harry'd quickly realized that Neville's sessions were making it possible for him to essentially hit a reset button and start over – ready for the morning's activities. He'd still been exhausted, but the healing session always seemed to strip him of the high tension and anxiety left in the dream's wake. On other mornings, the sessions had helped him recoup the energy missing from other mornings and face the day with unusual enthusiasm.

As a result, the realization that he would soon be losing the comfort and even the illusory care that he had been receiving from Neville brought more tears to Harry's eyes as he lay waiting for Neville to finish cleaning the shower rooms.

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"Hare?" Neville asked with concern as he gently sat on the bed by Harry's hip.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." When he heard Harry catch his breath, apparently hoping that Neville wouldn't press it, Neville couldn't help but shake his head with amusement...

"You remember what I said about lying to me?" Neville sighed.

For reasons that Harry wouldn't understand yet that, he couldn't let Harry get away with even a single white lie, even when he would have, normally, let it go simply as a friend.

"Tell me." Though almost whispered, it was a command, and from his expression, Harry seemed to recognize that he would be making a serious mistake if he chose to lie.

ブレンキン

"Hhhhnhh," Harry shook his head, seeming to wipe his cheeks across his pillow as he did.

He'd promised he wouldn't, but guys didn't talk about stuff like that as far as he knew. You didn't tell another guy that you missed his attention without being thought a pouf, but it was that or breaking his promise and lying to his friend who'd done so much for him.

 

"I'd sort of gotten used to this." He answered trying to diminish how much he thought he sounded like a girl.

"Oh." Neville answered in a noncommittal tone, smiling softly when Harry turned his head to check his friend's expression. "You do realize, of course, that we can't start working on the methods that I promised to show you – so you won't feel the need to hurt yourself – until this mess has been healed."

"Uhhh. Yeah." Harry admitted, but relaxed immediately. He'd forgotten, to be honest, but even if what they were doing was going to change, he still liked the idea that Neville would be spending time helping him with other things.

"Hare," Neville leaned down close to his ear as he began to stroke Harry's shoulders again, "What good would it do just to heal a few cuts on your back, if you still feel the need to go back out and get hurt again? There are too many people willing to do that for you, and I'm not about to see some of my best spell casting go to waste. Okay?"

"Mmhmm." Harry murmured softly pressing his face into the pillow so Neville couldn't see his tears. Hearing that Neville wanted to keep him from being hurt in the future was the closest anyone had ever come to making him really feel like he was cared for, and it was more than a little overwhelming.

"Good, now just relax and let me finish this, then we can go down to the room of requirement to start the next bit."


	4. Perceptions

The room of requirement resembled nothing so much a Greek bath.

Large ionic columns of marble circled the room, framing translucent screens of parchment. Backlit by candlelight, on each screen, a life-sized watermark image of a young Grecian athlete stood out from the screen's warm golden glow. Skyclad, the translucent athletes were artistically, yet provocatively, sprawled across the screen in classic poses. From the center of the room, wisps of lavender scented steam trickled from a marble fountain, rising off of heated waters that bubbled out of a warming pyramid of polished massage stones. Beside the fountain, a thin fleece floated on cushioning charms cast over a tall marble obelisk that was clearly meant to serve as a massage table, if not more.

"Nev? What is this?" Harry's voice cracked with amusing anxiety as he surveyed the room, but Severus's amusement at his nervous naiveté was quickly to vanish as he began to recognize traces of fear in Harry's response, instead of the curiosity that he'd expected.

"When I decided to learn occlumency," Neville began, taking a round about manner to explain "this summer, Gran hired one ruddy 'Master' after another, but they were hopeless. The whole first month was bleeding torture because their idea of teaching it was to bark at me "Clear your mind! Clear your mind!" over and over without until I thought my ears would bleed with it, then shove their way in before I had even the slightest chance to pick a thought to get rid of – that took about a half second and gave me headaches like you wouldn't believe. Absolute bleeding torture, but I expect you know that. And, you know, up until that point I'd thought that teachers couldn't come any scarier than Professor Snape."

"It wasn't just Snape, then? That's really how they teach it?"

"Seems to be how the British instructors teach it. They were like Professor Snape gone Sandhurst."

"I'd thought he was just doing it that way because he hates me, but if he was just doing it the way he was supposed to… No wonder the headmaster didn't get upset. All this time, the whole summer, I thought that he'd been trying to sabotage me, that he didn't want me to learn it, but it wasn't… it was just me. How did you… I couldn't learn it, but if I had… maybe…" Harry trailed off solemnly.

"Hare, don't. That's one thing I learned this summer. That method doesn't work for every body, and even when it does, it takes a bloody long time to master it. There's another way." Neville offered – gently trying to distract Harry from his grief and guilt.

Harry's tone shifted from heartbreak to hope in two short but heavily laden words: "there is?"

"Yeah. It's not used here in Britain, but Gran got fed up with the British Masters and owled a second or third cousin of hers, who teaches charms at Beauxbatons. As it turned out, there was a summer program at the school for fifth, sixth, and seventh years who wanted to learn occlumency and legillimency. I started a week late but with a few evening sessions, I was caught up and working on mental shields by the end of the week. By the end of the month, I was able to keep out the British Masters that Gran had kept on hire to be certain that the 'French method' was worthwhile. She doesn't really approve of anything French and probably wouldn't have let me at all without Aunt Claudette's assurances."

"Wow. How did you… Can you show me? Please? I really need to learn it so that –"

"Can I?" Neville interrupted before Harry got sidetracked back into his grief. "I thought that was what we were here for, and as to how, well… Why don't I show you instead of giving you the same thick lecture they gave."

"Uhhh. Okay. Thank you. I really appreciate this. What do I do?"

"Hop on the table and lie down on your stomach."

"What? Why?"

"Hare… do you trust me?"

To Severus's surprise, Harry had actually paused before answering his friend. Severus would have assumed that the answer would be instantaneous and ill thought out, but the reverse seemed to be true. After several moments, Harry finally nodded hesitantly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I do, but I thought you were done with the healing spells and that."

"I am, but this isn't about that. The French method that they use at Beauxbatons focuses on using a physical reaction as a focal point to help you detach from your thoughts. It works the same way that stubbing your toe works. When you first do it, the only thing you can feel is the pain. Right?"

"A-are you going to use pain?" Harry seemed to be steeling himself even while making it clear by his wording that if Neville felt he needed to use pain – he'd cooperate. That stalwart attitude was becoming increasingly disturbing to Severus as he had begun to suspect that it was covering a deeply ingrained tendency toward self-sacrifice.

"No, despite what you mentioned previously, while pain can be a distraction, it is hardly the best focal point because the mind tends to avoid pain as much as possible. Pleasure is a far better focal point, and the more intense the pleasure, the more intense a focal point is possible."

Glancing around the room again, Harry began to shift anxiously – even wringing his hands.

"Nev. I'm not so sure about this."

"Hare… have you ever wondered why they don't start teaching occlumency and legillimency until fifth year? Or that Snape and the other British Masters seemed to expect us to know how to clear our mind?"

"Be-because of… uhm… the complexity of magic?"

"No, on the occlumency side there aren't even spells to cast, no wand movements, no potions to take – just a simple goal 'to clear your mind'. Why do they hold back on it then?"

"So, kids can't keep secrets from adults?" Harry ventured nervously.

"If that were true, the teen years would probably be the last time for them to start teaching us. What kind of secrets did you have as a kid? Can any of those top the secrets you're keeping now?"

"No." Waves of discomfort rolled off Harry giving Severus the impression that the boy had already come upon the answer, but Neville continued to push.

"Then what? Think Harry. Why would we be expected to know how to clear our minds now, if it wasn't something taught in fourth year? What do wizards our age start doing around now that would have that effect?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know what you're talking about." Harry denied as he swayed lightly and caught the edge of the marble table in a weight knuckled grip.

"Hare. It's all right. I knew you might feel uncomfortable about this because you were raised by muggles, but you don't have to worry. I'm not talking about anything more than what the guys do when they go into the shower rooms in the morning. I wouldn't have to touch you in anyway you don't feel comfortable with. In fact, I don't even have to be in the same room with you when you do. I wasn't comfortable with it either, but Master Alexander let me – take care of that part myself – then came in to help me use the lingering feelings as a focus. We can do the same."

"No. No. I can't. I can't."

"Harry. It's not…" But, Neville's words trailed off as Harry broke down completely, dropping to his knees as his arms, gripped tightly around his waist, seemed to crush the long breaths he was trying to draw to calm himself into intense wracking sobs. Before long, it was apparent to both Neville and Severus that Harry was hyperventilating, and Severus was close to stepping in when Neville pulled his hand back in a long sweep before striking Harry across the cheek with an unexpectedly sharp slap.

"Hare, tell me what's wrong… and don't lie to me. You didn't even break down this way when I confronted you about your uncle, so don't think you can get away with brushing this off."

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Reminded that he had promised not to lie to Neville again and exhausted with the weight of the secrets he'd been carrying, Harry gave in despite his fears: in a quavering voice, he began to explain about the visions that Voldermort had forced on him since the summer of his fourth year at Hogwarts.

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As Harry's tale of his visions began to unfold, Severus found himself sickened not only by the cruelty and perversity of the Dark Lord, but also his own role in the success of the horrific visions that the sick creature had projected through its link to Harry.

During their legillimency sessions, Severus had been well informed that Voldemort had forced visions on the boy, but he had never delved into the subject matter of the visions for fear that one small glimpse might linger in his mind when the Dark Lord regularly read him. For the same reason, he did not make the even slightest attempt to discuss the content of the visions. As a result, Harry had suffered, alone, through an act that Severus could only describe as mental rape. To say that Harry's mind had been virtually raped barely skimmed the surface of what the visions did. And… it was no misuse of the word 'rape' either.

Somehow learning that Harry had been subject to the cruciatus while under his 'visions', Voldemort easily deduced the visions that would cause Harry the most torment (revels involving the sexual crimes against innocent muggles), then amplified them by casting lust, in-satiate, and ravening spells on the victims – forcing Harry (through the link) to simultaneously experience the Dark Lord's lascivious arousal and his victim's pain and humiliation.

Through those spells, Voldemort forced his pleasure at the torment and abuse on Harry who was caught helplessly suffering both as the victim and with the unwanted sickening pleasure and arousal forced on him by the abuser. Using their link to overwhelm Harry's disgust and repulsion with his own rapacious reactions to each abuse, Voldemort forced Harry to completion numerous times each night before the boy's inability to respond would end the victim's life. In some instances, Voldemort even allowed Harry's pleading to extend the victim's life at the cost of extending the abuse.

Over time, Harry's exposure to the lust spells, the horrid sexual abuse, and the repeated, though forced, completion, as well as his being drowned in Voldemort's perverse arousal began to warp Harry's own fantasies, causing him to unwillingly crave and lust for the lurid abuse – until the mere suggestion of sex sickened him for its associations. What would have been the normal emergence of his budding sexuality became only fodder for his nightmares as his innocent interests in his classmates was subverted by his tortured subconscious that could now only cast him as predator or prey.

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Severus brushed his sleeve across his lips, for once unconcerned with immaculate state of his robes. When he had followed Longbottom and Potter to the Gryffindor's Room of Requirement, to monitor their progression through the next step of Longbottom's plan to ensnare his wayward dorm-mate, Severus had not expected such startling results to occur so quickly.

One thing was certain; while Neville was infuriating on a number of levels, he had been unutterably correct in his earlier condemnation of Severus. Severus had allowed his fear to condemn the child to a horror beyond even his own imagination, and worse – by his negligence, had given it time to sink in and cause the boy severe and perhaps irreparable emotional damage.

Shuddering at the content of their revelations, he promptly dropped to his knees and gagged as his stomach rejected even the nausea potion that he had just taken.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a cool hand cupped itself under his forehead as another caught the soiled locks hanging beside his cheek and pulled them back. Severus was initially tempted to jerk away and growl his worst threats, but the assisting hands were too quickly appreciated as his gorge again rose in his throat. When he was certain that he had finally finished, by virtue of the impossibility of having even a dram's worth more stomach fluids remaining in his system, he banished the remnants of his early breakfast and tried to ignore the hands that were gently banishing the sweat, bile, and stomach contents that had managed to contaminate his hair.

After a moment, when he had enough breath to sigh, he turned in his crouch and sat back dropping against the wall unceremoniously – glad once again for the curtain of ebony hair as he tried to gather enough nerve to meet the headmaster's eyes.

When he he finally lifted his gaze enough to see the trousers of a student's uniform, Severus jerked in surprise. He had been certain from the gentle touch and quiet attention that it could have been only headmaster attending him, and the thought of a student seeing his weakness had him scrambling up against the wall, despite a continued feeling of shakiness.

Before he could restore his rigid self-sufficient deportment, a hand clasped his shoulder and stopped his rise.

"Sit!" Neville ordered firmly, "Unless you think your pride would be better served by trying to hold onto a pathetically obvious front... and you are able to banish trembling hands and a bloodless complecton as well. Given what I've just seen and heard?"

"And… you are foolish enough to believe that I will allow you to keep that information?" Severus sneered.

"No," Neville answered with a challenging glare, "I'm not quite that foolish, but then there are always ways around a memory charm… if the recipient knows, in advance, that he is likely to be a target for one. "His scathing tone left no doubt in the potion master's mind that his student had little trust in him and felt that the fault for that lay entirely at the potion master's feet... an attitude that unexpectedly ratcheted the professor's opinion of the boy up several   
notches.

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Since approaching the headmaster after the welcome feast, to 'inform them of his intent', the boy had been a irritating mystery plaguing Severus with frequent reminders of a seeming impossibility: during class the boy was consistently in-line with his longstanding image of being a bumbling incompetent, who barely earned the title of Gryffindor by not immediately fainting when his cauldron inevitably exploded, but in private moments with Potter or Severus, himself, a core of strength and competence appeared that completely countered his public persona. Doubting that even his most accomplished snakes could maintain such a dichotomy over so long a period, Severus had surreptitiously cast a variety of spells to detect possession, imperios, spells, and compulsion potions… every one of which pronounced Longbottom clear of external and third party internal influences.

As impossible as it was for him to believe- this appeared to be Longbottom's true – though well hidden demeanor. That fact unsettled him for its furtherance of the evidence that he had been worse than blind in observing certain quarters. So close on the heels of Potter's revelations, the knowledge of yet another failure to see what was right in front of him was so disconcerting, in itself, that –without conscious awareness of doing so – he sank to the floor under the continued pressure of Neville's hand, which he had uncharacteristically not thrown off his shoulder yet.

"Chew these." The Gryffindor ordered gently, bringing a sneer to Severus's face as he recognized the sprigs of candied lavender that the boy was pressing in his hand as though he were a child in need of comfort. Nevertheless, he took several and popped them in his mouth. Petulantly rejecting the teen's attempt to be conciliatory, in light of Severus's earlier lapse, would serve no purpose but to underscore how affected Severus was, and he no longer had any confidence of the boy being too Gryffindor to notice. When the Longbottom sighed and turned to slide to wall beside him, Severus eyed the act with detachment and turned to study the remaining sprig.

"Potion infused?" Severus questioned as he twirled the sprig between his fingertips.

"No," Neville sighed as he quickly repressed a smug smile at the professor's curiosity. "My mum's developed a tolerance to most calming potions so I came up with these after Madam Sprout mentioned that she's used a cheering charm on occasion to manage her devil's snare and that it has been known to have a beneficial effect on some of it's properties in your potions. With that in mind, I experimented on several lavender plants – casting daily doses of cheering, calming, numbing, and… early versions of the imperio spell on each plant to enhance detachment and suggestive qualities. Then I contacted St. Mungos. After studying the plots, my notes, and several samples, the healers have started giving them to Mum and believe that they are effective in helping to calm her down."

Dismissing the prick at his nerves that Neville's comment should have made, Severus glanced at the last lavender sprig and popped it into his mouth.

"My mother would have approved of these," he mused.

"Really?" Neville smiled curiously. "Did she like lavender?"

"No, not particularly, but she enjoyed growing her own potion ingredients when she could. She may have even used a charm or two. It is hard to remember, but I think she may have also used the somnolence charms. Her favorite was chamomile – for tea, but that may have been because my father did not react as strongly to the idea of her making chamomile tea."

Choosing to skim over the personal nature of the professor's comments, Neville gently acknowledged the remark with appreciation, "Thank you, I had not considered using chamomile with a somnolence spell, but really should have."

"Have you used these with Potter?"

"Yes. Before every session, as a treat to help him take his mind off of things. This morning's, as you might guess, were a little stronger, but I had no idea what to expect when we got here. I mean, I knew he might be a little put off by it; he's never been the type to … participate when some of the boys go in the showers and wank, but I thought it was probably from being raised by muggles. Never thought it could be something as awful as that."

That much had been clear to Severus, but -in all honesty- he knew that he hadn't had any better idea of what reaction to expect than Potter's quiet friend. In fact, Severus could not have been more blind or thoughtless of the ramifications that his past brutal disregard would have on the boy, who, now, only bore a ghostly likeness to James Potter in Severus's eyes.

Closing his eyes, he called back to mind, the moment when Potter had become Harry to him instead of Potter or James Potter's brat - the moment when he was made aware of how badly he had failed as both a sworn protector and instructor- and swore to himself that he would rectify his error.

"Mr. Longbottom, your instinct with Mr. Potter seems for the moment to be unerringly accurate, do you have a suggestion for what we should do next?"

"Perhaps, but I have a question for you first."

"Very well, ask it your question!" Severus sighed waiting to hear the Gyffindor's recriminations.

"Would you happen to know of any bondage spells?"

"You can't be serious…"

"Oh, then, you think Harry would prefer to take the dominant role?" Neville challenged knowingly.

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	5. Withering Attachments

Barely mastering his anxiety as he stared down at the headmaster's rotting, blackened hand, Severus growled, "It's not working."

"It is, Dear boy. It is."

"How can you say that? It is letting the curse progress at the same rate as the last three potions. It was supposed to stop its progression entirely."

Hearing the touch of hysteria tingeing his voice, Severus clenched his jaw, biting back on the stream of frustrations that he direly wanted to vent.

His fourteenth unsuccessful trial was having little more effect than the first potion had. The dark curse was still consuming the headmaster's magic at an astonishing rate, and Severus's attempt to cut off the blood flow to the hand before the curse could be carried to the very seat of Albus Dumbledore's immeasurable magical core – Albus's unfettered and untarnished heart – was proving futile. While the blood flow was stoppered enough to let gangrene set in, the curses dark magic was pushing the blocks further and further through the Headmaster's veins – cutting off greater and greater portions of the wizard's decaying arm from its necessary blood supply – and moving nearer and nearer to his mentor's cherished heart.

"Severus, while it may not be working as quickly or as well as you might like, the severity of the pain is lessening hourly, and I can not help but think that is due to your efforts, as we can be certain that Tom would not have used a curse that was anything but torturous."

Despite the self-loathing that it caused him to withhold the truth from his mentor, Severus merely nodded. He knew that the cessation of pain was not a result of the potions, but of the dying nerve tissue; however, the headmaster's will to live was crucial in fighting the curse. If the headmaster believed even for a moment that the curse was incurable, he might stop fighting it and give in to an outcome that Severus had not intention of allowing.

He was not naïve, and fully understood that there was a very good chance that he would not be able to prevent the headmaster's passing – but Severus had sworn to himself that even if he could not save the headmaster's life, he would forestall his mentor's passing at least long enough for the headmaster to witness the work of five decades brought to a successful close. In short, the headmaster would not succumb before Riddle was finally and irrevocably dealt with.

"My boy, while your glare may possesses truly fearsome properties, I believe the salve in your pocket may be more efficacious in returning my hand to its gloved state."

Seeing through the headmaster's strained attempt at humor for what it was, a distraction from the discomfort of being seen vulnerable, Severus turned the hand over to finish his exam. His mentor had long cultivated the impression that he was impervious, omniscient, and immutable, if not actually immortal, and Severus was sometimes inclined to wonder whether his mentor was not suffering more from the degradation of that image than from the actual blow to his physical integrity.

Finishing his inspection of the ravaged hand, Severus retrieved the salve from his robe pocket and began to work it into the headmaster's arm. Starting just above the elbow to banish any dark magic that had seeped past the blocks, Severus slowly, thoroughly massaged it down the wasting forearm and out to the black shriveled fingertips.

Gently uncurling fingers that the headmaster no longer had the musculature to manipulate, he opened the headmaster's palm and focused on spreading a thick layer of the salve into the damaged palm where the curse guarding the Gaunt ring first struck. Massaging the salve into every crease then reapplying another layer and working it in until his fingers ached – Severus continued at his task well past the point when the salve would be effective. He continued, in fact, until the thumb and fingertips of the headmaster's free hand pierced the curtain of the long ebony locks that fell between them and gently thumbed away the tears that were streaming unnoticed down his cheeks.

"My Dear Boy, you should not…"

"Call in the wolf, Headmaster. Let him take defense and let me work on this."

"Severus, I'm sorry. That is simply not possible. Remus is engaged in an important task."

"This is important. More important than anything that he could possibly be working on."

"Severus, I understand that…"

"No, you don't. You don't seem to understand at all. You are more important. Not the headmaster. Not the _august leader_ of the light. Not the Grand _fucking_ Phoenix of the Order of the Phoenix. Not even the well loved grandfather that every one looks up to. Those are all just roles you play. I'm talking about you!"

As he spoke, Severus met the headmaster's eyes briefly before darting his eyes away and continuing to work the cream into the palm with what would have been bruising force if the nerve endings and tissue were healthy enough to bruise. They weren't and that fact only stirred up his anguish to a higher pitch.

"Albus Dumbledore: the man who chuckles at Hagrid's choice of dangerous pets, then turns around and keeps a dark-marked death eater as a pet. The man who presses lemon drops from a five ounce tin on everyone who walks within fifty yards of your office, but keeps a half liter bowl of black licorice snaps with extra bite in every room of your quarters because I prefer them. The man who pranked the Weasley twins on St. Patrick's Day by charming all of their clothes to turn Slytherin green with gold shamrocks whenever I passed. That man's important… to me. You're important to me. You are the only person who has ever seen anything more in me than a greasy git. You had faith in me once, if there's any of it left, show it now. Call in the wolf and let me work on this. I'll find an answer. Even if I have to throttle the Dark Lord himself to find out what curse he used, I will find the counter. Just give me the chance. Give me the chance."

"Severus, I think that's quite enough. You will do nothing of the sort. I am sorry, just as Remus is engaged in more important tasks, your tasks are crucial to what we …"

"No. Remus can teach the course as well as I. His teaching is perhaps the one thing I have never faulted, and you said yourself that what he was doing may have no effect at all."

"But, we must still give them the choice, Severus. Surely, you can understand that."

"No. No. I can't. Not when it means…" Without thinking, Severus slammed the salve down on the stone beside the headmaster's chair as he answered. "Not if it means that I can't work on this … that I can't end the curse even one day sooner. Remus has told them what we want. He's given them the chance to join us. Call him back!"

"Severus…"

"Albus, I …" Having finally given vent to his feelings, Severus was too far entrenched in them to stop so abruptly until the headmaster swiftly reached up with his free hand, wrapped his fingers in the hair at the Severus's nape, and pulled into the curve of the potion master's neck until Severus was kneeling before him, startled and breathing shallowly as he realized how far he had overstepped his bounds.

"I believe that I said that is enough. Severus." His mentor chastised in a tone that said while Albus understood, Severus's lapse in control had gone too far, and his refusal to stop immediately, at Albus's command, was even more serious.

Albus did, in fact, understand that Severus's anger was directed at the curse and everything it represented, but to lose control enough that he would even mention confronting Riddle was simply going too far. Severus's life rested on his discretion and such a lapse was could not be tolerated even in the most emotional circumstances.

But, there had been another reason, unknown to Severus, that Albus had been waiting for the potion master's inevitable breakdown: a lesson that his protégé desperately needed to learn before Albus passed to the next adventure.

"Kneel, Severus. At a forty five degree angle, with your hands on your thighs and your heels pressed flat to the floor." Albus ordered quietly, keeping his eyes averted. It was an uncomfortable position, but one which told Severus he would not be held long in it, simply from it's use. Albus had never forced him to hold poses that would strain his muscles overly, preferring to test Severus's resistance to his advances – over mere physical stamina. Of course, despite Severus's (normally honest) best efforts, the headmaster always prevailed, and Severus vaguely hoped that they might move in that direction shortly. In his unsettled state, a bit of physical reassurance would be appreciated.

Extracting his hand from Severus's grip before turning an appraising eye on his protégé, Albus paused then turned his wrist so that the worst damage was facing Severus.

"Tell me, Severus, does this make me weak in your eyes?"

"No. Sir." Severus answered before looking away.

"Why?"

"A dragon, even injured, is nevertheless, a dragon." Severus repeated the assurance that Albus had given him in the infirmary when Severus first realized that nothing he was doing was halting or was even likely to halt the curse.

"Exactly. Now, look at me."

Reluctantly, Severus tilted his head to let his bangs fall away from his face before he met the headmaster's eyes. The stern compassion glowing in Albus's eyes was, somehow, almost harder to take than the pain reflected somewhere behind.

"I want you to answer a question for me."

"Yes, Sir."

"How old am I?"

"One hundred sixty seven and thirteen weeks."

"Yes, though I hadn't paid attention to the thirteen weeks. No, tell me… your uncle, how old was he when he passed?"

"Sixty-two." Severus answered archly.

He already knew where it was going, but after his lapse was compelled to keep his temper. By necessity, the headmaster's disciplines were severe enough that Severus, who was quite used to severe crucios at the hands of the dark lord as well as a variety of other tortures, nevertheless avoided the Headmaster's punishments - at all cost. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to avoid adding further consequence to whatever already stiff penalty he would face.

"And your father?"

"Forty-eight."

"Your grandfather?"

"Seventy-three."

"Your great grandfather?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Really, so young."

"He was murdered for by an alternate Snape heir."

"Dear me… so young and over something so meaningless, but it only highlights my point. You recognize that don't you?"

…

"Severus, I am sure you picked up the point I am trying to make immediately."

…

"Dear Boy, I do insist that you answer me."

"Yes, alright." Severus finally growled. "I understand, damn it. You've lived a long life. You've lived a better life. A full life. I don't care; do you understand that? I don't care how long you've lived; it is still too soon."

"Of course, it is, and it always should be. It is better that we leave with those we love still wanting to spend more time with us than waiting until they wish nothing more to do with us."

When Severus only nodded, Albus smiled sadly, but assured him: "While my time may indeed be immanent, Severus, I have no intention of rushing it, and will consider bringing Remus back to Hogwarts if it would make the time pass easier. I can not give you a guarantee that I will find a way to do so, but I will consider how it might be done. Will that serve for the moment?"

"Yes, Sir." Severus sighed with some relief. He had not even expected to get that much of a concession.

"Now, as to your outburst." Albus eyed him sternly. "I can not, of course, let that go unaddressed."

"No, Sir."

"Stand and move to the center of the room. There, just there." Albus paused to transfigure Severus's robes into an adult version of the school uniform button-up shirt and slacks, then ordered. "On your knees. Let the balls and flat of your feet face upwards. Press the your seat into the backs of your heels. Excellent. Cross your wrists behind your back, and rest forward until your chin touches your knees. Yes. That's it. Petrificus Totalis."

Had Severus been able to move, the headmaster's petrificus would have caused him to jerk with panic; but, unable to blink or even breath more rapidly than the spell allowed, Severus was forced to contain his shock to a whir of anxious thoughts.

The headmaster had never, never in the entirety of their association forced him suffer to helplessness. Severus had, on occasion, been cast to sleep or stupefied when he returned overwrought on returning from one of the Dark Lord's revels, but even in those instances, when he had been truly helpless – the headmaster had not forced him to be aware of it… understanding how deeply Severus resented any measure of helplessness.

If this was to be his punishment, Severus wasn't entirely certain how long he could take it, even in the headmaster's care, without coming out of it worthless for days. He wasn't even able to flinch when he felt the headmaster's fingers combing through his hair and pulling it back into a loose pony tail at the nape of his neck.

"Severus," Albus began in a soothing voice as he reached under and stroked the back of his protégé's neck. "I hope you can remember that as with all of my punishments, I am doing this with the best interests, and at the present, I believe it is in your best interest to gain a new perspective of our relationship. For the next forty eight hours, you will be placed in the care of temporary master – someone whom is known to you and someone whom I trust."

"Though I am quite certain you will not be inclined to offer him your trust, he has already expressed some concern for your welfare, and I believe that he will do his best to make certain that this is not unduly trying. I trust that you will offer him the same courtesy and obedience you have long offered me if for no other reason than I am asking you to do so. To ensure that you do, you will be confined to the room of requirement until such a time as you satisfy the terms of your punishment. Please do not disappoint me."


	6. Better Served

Studying the potions master as he knelt in obeisance on the cold stone floor, without even the most miniscule reaction to the Headmaster's request, Neville stammered briefly: "You can't be serious. This is a mistake."

When neither responded, Neville felt his irritation unexpectedly stoked higher by the sight of the potion master's pose. There was something rather wrong about allowing the wizard to take such a position in front of a student, much less dressed in a school boy's uniforms instead of his austere black robes.

"Did you even ask him if he was willing to be placed in my control?" Neville demanded, turning his gaze to the Headmaster as he explained; "Because, I can not believe that he would have agreed to anything of the sort."

"Neville, My Dear Boy, Severus has learned to trust my judgment, and the relationship that has developed from this implies consent even in matters he might find uncomfortable."

"Which means you didn't ask him did you?"

Studying the potion professor's pose again as he worked through the headmaster's response, Neville again couldn't help but feel unease at the man's intimidating man's subservience and stillness.

The potions master was always moving and seeing him so still was fraying at Neville's nerves.

A fact which he knew was evident in his tone when he challenged the headmaster: "Professor Snape's trust may imply his consent; mine does not. Where he may have learned to trust your judgement, I am learning to question it and would like to hear the Professor's perspective on your request. Professor, is this acceptable to you? ... Professor?"

"Neville, Severus cannot answer you at the moment."

"And, why is that?" Neville asked suspiciously.

"Simply that I felt our conversation would progress more productively without his characteristic agitation."

"Meaning you knew the idea would drive him spare and didn't have the nerve to ask. Right? So you silenced him? No. He would have at least glared at me. Stupified… no he wouldn't be able to hold that pose if you had."

The anger in Neville's eyes when they snapped back up from his study of the potions master – now understanding what had set him so ill at ease – startled the headmaster who took an uncertain step back as his student actually growled.

"You didn't. Tell me you didn't petrify him."

The headmaster's eyes dimmed slightly at the growing aggression in young Longbottom's eyes as he stepped forward, but there was no other change to deny what the boy had asked.

"Finite Incantatem!" Neville growled snarled softly, surprising the headmaster when his hex broke under the silent intensity of the boy's counter.

Stepping the potion master's side, Neville knelt by the older wizard and gently uncrossed the potion master's wrists before running his hands up the man's arms to be certain that his professor's muscles had not knotted with tension in whatever time it had taken for the headmaster to make his arrangements.

The headmaster had expected Severus to experience some discomfort, but not for him to dart to his feet panting and shaking.

Young Neville had seemed to, however, and had something ready to press in the wizard's shaking hand. Even more to the headmaster's astonishment, Severus did something that the headmaster had never seen him do: without glancing up or opening his hand to see what he had been passed, Severus popped the gift into his mouth and swallowed it quickly.

"Thank you." Severus's rough voice acknowledged Longbottom before he glanced at the headmaster with clear hurt and frustration in his eyes.

Nodding carefully, Neville stepped between them, blocking Severus's view of the headmaster.

"If the headmaster had asked you, would you have refused him?"

The tension in the teen's shoulders practically caused him to vibrate as he waited the potion master's answer, causing Dumbledore began to wonder, himself, at the delay, until Neville finally sighed.

"Very well," Neville stepped back, gesturing for the professor to rise then transfigured the potion master's robes back into the austere formal garments that he customarily wore.

"Meet me in the Room of Requirement in thirty two minutes, after stopping by your quarters to retrieve a pensieve, two workout outfits, and items that you may occupy yourself with over the course of eight hours."

Without another word or even acknowledgement of the headmaster, Severus bowed formally and backed to the doorway, bowed again, and left.

"Mr. Longbottom, I'm afraid I must have missed his response."

"Petrificus Totalis" Neville snapped out at the approaching headmaster freezing him in place.

The headmaster's magic was sufficient to keep the hex from snapping him to stiff attention and letting him tumble unaided to the floor, but the young man's casting had been sound and as a result, the headmaster was stiffly bound in place.

"Oh, you have him well trained, Headmaster." Neville answered after a moment, in a remarkable mimicry of Severus's customary sneer as he continued, "He didn't say a single thing to contradict your assertion, and clearly intends to submit himself to your wishes, despite your avid disregard for his."

Stalking over to the Albus's desk, Neville retrieved Severus's wand and rolled in his fingers as he continued, "If you wish to keep it that way, I suggest the you refrain from future attempts to humiliate him or make him feel helpless and remember that he is well familiar with being made similarly helpless – right before being tortured. Oh, and by the way, I have a good idea just how strong my magic is against yours, so you can stop pretending that you're still frozen." Neville finished with disgust before leaving by the same path that the potions master had taken.

In his wake, Dumbledore gently stepped from the young man's hex as though it had only been a cloak thrown over his head. As he stared after the two young men, his craving have the last word won out even if he was murmuring to himself: "Perhaps so, but my boy will be far better served if he learns to love me less."


	7. Not Much of a Gryffindor, After All

Neville sighed roughly as he approached the room of requirement.

"Damn him," he growled as he slammed his hand against the arch that appeared as he paced past the room's hidden doorway a fourth time.

Neville wasn't ready for this. In truth, outside of several wistful adolescent fantasies, Neville hadn't even allowed himself to consider the possibility of having his fantasies realized.

He wasn't certain, even now, if it was truly a possibility and knew that the consequences of making the attempt – but failing - would be disastrous on an uncountable number of levels.

He was probably being irredeemably idiotic to even consider taking the risk, but seeing the headmaster's callous disregard of the potion master's circumstances had re-ignited the incredible fury in Neville, surpassed only by the incandescent rage that had threatened to overwhelm and consume him over the summer- after his grandmother had finally taken him into her confidence and allowed him to read his father's journal.

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The days that followed were the most difficult experiences in Neville's memory since the week after his seventh birthday when he came to truly understand what it meant that his parents were insane. Where the days that followed that horrible revelation had been filled with uncontrollable bouts of anguish and crying, however, the weeks after reading his father's journal had been occupied with nearly irresistible, almost insatiable bouts of destructive rage that stunned even Neville with the depth of his desire to do violence.

He only finally managed to control his temper after his grandmother had threatened to pull him out of Hogwarts unless he thoroughly applied himself to containing his behavior and leaning occulmency from the masters, whom she had hired that morning. Chastened by her threat, Neville had readily accepted, though not for a reason that any of his friends or dorm mates could have even conceived of.

While he would have missed his friends dearly, reading his father's journal had given Neville a terrible, if galvanizing purpose for going back.

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Since returning to Hogwarts, however, Neville had discovered two other reasons to be thankful both for returning and for the occulmency instruction that she had demanded.

Harry…

and

Professor Snape…

As if the thought had been a catalyst drawing the other to him, the Potion Master appeared at his side sneering at his emotional display with open disdain.

"Mr. Longbottom, allow me to assure you that I am no more content with the Headmaster's arrangement that you are." Professor Snape snarled in a voice that was rich with feigned anger and thick with mortification as he clearly misinterpreted Neville's earlier curse as distaste for his presence.

Steeling his expression to mild reproof before he turned, Neville slowly twisted on his heel and faced the Potion Master.

"Don't presume to think that you have even the slightest idea what's going through my mind at the moment; I guarantee that you don't."

Deciding to reinforce that idea, Nevile shifted his expression to an appreciative smile and scanned the Potion Master from head to heel and heel to head with an approving glance that seemed to completely unnerve the professor.

"I see that you followed my instructions." Neville commented gently, nodding again with approval.

Professor Snape nodded and glanced quickly away, clearly unsettled by Neville's confident and straight forward manner as much as by any circumstance that would have ended with him following Neville's instructions in any shape or form.

"I appreciate your cooperation, even when you are clearly... discontent with this… exercise." Neville commented, understanding when the professor almost winced then relaxed at Neville's discreet description of the headmaster's cutting idea of punishment.

"I imagine you will be more comfortable discussing this in private," Neville commented gesturing toward the door, "but, there is … something… a small matter I'd like to talk about first… about … appropriate boundaries."

"Appropriate boundaries?" Professor Snape snapped in a snide, but barely hidden tone of distress,

"Are you so dense?"

"... so obtuse…"

"...so… so oblivious..." the professor spluttered, stumbling for words that seemed to fail him ... ... "that you can actually delude yourself into believing there is even the vaguest existence of anything similar to an appropriate boundary in this situation?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but… despite what you may tend to think about Gryffindors, I really have no interest in making our …your class ... any more tense than they are likely to be."

"How generous." Snape answered tersely, sneering when Neville seemed prompted to extend his hand and silently offer the professor several small buds of his charm-cultivated candied, lavender blossoms.

The potion master scowled, glaring at Neville's hand, and almost hesitating before he accepted the blossoms and surreptitiously slid them into his mouth – even though there was no one else present to notice other than Neville himself.

Taking the professor's clear anxiety in-stride, Neville nodded, and continued, "So, I thought… no I feel that it would be better if I didn't use your formal title as your address for the… er… interim. So that there won't be any … er… mixed associations."

Taking a step back, the professor stared at him is surprise, before asking suspiciously, "And what, precisely did you intend to call me?"

There might have been an undertone of edginess in the older wizard's tone, but Neville was only willing to coax the professor so far in their initial moments.

"Well… your given name would have been too intimate for a student to address you with and too recognizable for us to shorten…"

"Agreed." Professor Snape commented noncommittally, though Neville thought he noticed the professor's fingers lose some of his tension even though his hands stayed in fists, almost hidden in his robes.

"Nor would a title or name that might come up in ordinary conversation … and a potion ingredient would be too obvious. I… "

"Just say it," the older wizard snarled. "Just tell me what little, no doubt insulting, 'pet name' you've chosen and lets get on with it."

"Monsieur."

"What?"

"Monsieur."

"You are aware that … it means 'Sir' in French?" The professor inquired with surprise.

"Yes." Neville answered simply as he gesture to the door in front of them, "Entre-vous, S'il Vous Plaît, Monsieur."

The expression on Professor Snape's face was, for the briefest second, so bewildered that Neville could have almost described him as flummoxed before the Professor regained his composure, remembered his pique at being turned over to Longbottom, and swirled on his heel before stalking into the room.

Neville was tempted to laugh, and might have given into the temptation, if it wasn't so obvious that the professor was almost baiting him to laugh, so that he would have justification to reassert his normal, probably comfortable, hostility – but, Neville suppressed his urge to chuckle with the certainty that the professor would quite quickly find his justification – once he stepped into the room. It was likely to get pretty nasty, in fact, and that thought, in itself, made it much easier to quell his humor at throwing the professor so off balance so quickly.

The Potion Master had barely stalked past him into the room before he froze inside the door, with a chuff of breath that made it sound as if his wind had just been torn out of him.

Reaching out, Neville placed his palm low on the wizard's back, and pushed him gently but insistently forward until he could shut the door behind him and enact the thick layering of spells and wards that the room of requirement, with the Headmaster's reluctant cooperation, had placed on the door.

"Monsieur, step forward, if you will." Neville ordered calmly, waiting for the explosion.

The startled Professor practically jumped away from his hand, pulling further into the room before he whirled on Neville, his face contorted in rage as his eyes darted back and forth between the sculpted jade fountain that was the centerpiece of a small darkened entry chamber.

The room of requirement had more than acquitted Neville's wishes when he requested the small ritual fountain conjured from natural jade. In the center of the close chamber, stood a softly glowing fountain barely five feet in diameter. At its center, a small dias was carved into the shape of a stepping stone in a river.

"What is the meaning of this?" Professor Snape snarled, gesturing back to the ritual bath.

"Monsieur, the meaning of this is quite clear. Isn't it?" Neville chastised in a firm tone, knowing of course that the implications would be quite clear to anyone who was even moderately familiar with certain pureblood traditions - like slavery.

Beneath the Professor's harsh tone, Neville had easily heard a bluster of animosity thinly disguising thick notes of anxiety and quietly congratulated himself.

When the professor failed to snarl at him or angrily snap off a derisive comment, Neville knew he'd made the right choice in his setting to unbalance the professor further, and pushed on into the more logical prong of his choice before sweeping in with his emotional attack.

"Look, the Headmaster put very specific conditions on your stay in here. Conditions with an element of control... Remember?"

The professor's lips pinched tightly shut as he barely hid a wince at Neville's reminder in a curt nod.

Ignoring the surge of sympathy he felt for the professor, Neville pushed on.

He had to get the Snape off guard and keep him there, so he continued ruthlessly, "In my custody, and subject to my whims and fancies until you've satisfied some measure of test he's set for you. Remember?

He paused a beat for the professor to answer before overriding the professor's silence with a harsher comment, "But then, I suppose you expected me to be the typical Gryffindor? ... Hating you and craving barely veiled revenge - behind the weak camouflage of cries for justice - and bold enough to take it?" He accused, hardening his voice with disdain.

"Maybe, you'd imagined that I'd want revenge for each and every one of those horrible insults and screaming fits you threw at me in class? Or maybe you thought that I'd want to berate and humiliate you?"

"Or, did you think I'd take a more physical approach, like the Dursleys? That I'd lock you away and starve you until you were too weak to defend yourself when I pulled you out and thrashed you?"

"Or, maybe... just maybe, you'd thought that I'd want to prove that I wasn't the squib that you've always accused me of being, by just tying you up and hexing you half to death?"

Pausing when the Potion Master shuddered, giving him sad confirmation that the professor had expected something exactly along those lines, Neville had a disturbing epiphany.

"No, maybe you didn't think I'd hex you half to death, but hex or hurt you enough that you'd gladly do whatever it was the Headmaster asked of you? Whatever it was the you refused to do, earning this punishment? It must have been a pretty nasty request, if you refused it, in light of everything else he's asked of you."

Neville knew he'd hit on the truth, watching the professor's eyes widen then narrow suspiciously.

Finally, pushed past the Headmaster's request to show Neville the same courtesy that he would have shown his mentor, Professor Snape opened his mouth to snap that Neville knew nothing of what he'd done for the Headmaster.

His protest was over-ridden by Longbottom's harsh retort.

"You should be very glad, then, that you were more right than you knew - all these years - when you said I was never much of a Gryffindor."


	8. The Privacy of One's Thoughts

Turning his back on Longbottom, Severus stared uncomfortably at the ritual fountain.

If he were prepared to be honest with the younger wizard, he would have had to admit that Longbottom had done rather a decent job of visualizing the base image of the initiation fountain for the room of requirement.

The small ritual fountain appeared to have been conjured seamlessly from natural jade. The frosted basin gently sloped outward for close to three feet each direction before ending in a flowing rim shaped like the crests of waves overflowing the basin.

At its center, two diminutive figures stood a small dais that was wrought in the shape of a gently sloped stepping stone with shallow channels running to the stepping stone's edges. On the right side of the dais, with the tips of its toes at the tips of two channels, stood a delicately formed, figure of a witch robed in a long flowing tunic with a handkerchief hemline cut just high enough that he could see the understated, but elegant, platinum cuff resting on the statue's ankle. The cuff glowed softly with an almost liquid light that seemed to flow from the ornately engraved runes of white gold. In one hand, the witch held a smaller jade basin lined with a thin frost of platinum that the reflected small lotion, potion, oil, crème, and soap jars resting in the basin's center. Soft face, hand, and wash clothes draped the witch's other hand.

Beside her, knelt the figure of a lean, almost weedy, wizard with it's knees at the edge of two parallel channels. Compared to the witch standing beside it, the wizard's figure seemed almost without purpose, carrying nothing, engaged in nothing, sparsely attired, with only a half-robe draped at an almost rakish angle from his the top of one hip to the lower curve of the other. The absence of enveloping robes and distracting tool or activity only served to highlight the matching engraved platinum cuffs and braces that gently threw off a soft warm glow into the darkened chamber, like flickering candle light. The effect, reflecting a soft luminescent glow up from the basin, was ... in truth.. quite beautiful.

"I have no intention," a soft murmur carried over Severus's shoulder startling him out of his reverie. "Of insulting ... demeaning ... or hurting you."

"I decided on the fountain solely for its symbolism..." Longbottom continued to murmur in a low non-objectionable tone, as his hands rested lightly on the tops of Severus's shoulders, "to satisfy... an element of control."

When Severus moved to turn, Longbottom's fingers clenched his shoulders firmly, holding him in place.

"No, " Longbottom uttered softly, directing his attention again to the fountain, "what do you think of it?"

"It is..." Severus broke off as the boy's fingers slipped forward and unhooked the shoulder button of his workout outfit.

"Yes?"

Severus flushed with embarrassment when he reached up to pull Longbottom's fingers away – only to have his own fingers flicked dismissively away. He knew what the boy was doing... of course, he knew... he'd known the moment he'd seen the ritual font; nevertheless, he longed to demand, in outrage, that the boy explain himself. Doing so, however, would have only put on a futile and witless show of his own folly and anxiety. Longbottom had already explained himself, faultlessly and reasonably, despite Severus's hostile response.

Moreover, he could hardly fault younger wizard's logic either; by the headmaster's comments, they both knew that a significant element of control would be required to establish that he was truly in Longbottom's custody rather than simply occupying the same space. The alternative means of establishing that element would be, in the best case scenario, truly humiliating... in the worst? Well, the younger wizard had not been too far off in guessing Severus's expectations, though Severus was, indeed, glad that he had misread the young wizard's intentions.

"Well?" Longbottom prompted again as he loosed the second and third buttons in from the shoulder.

Forcing himself to focus on the statues before him, Severus groped for any response, "adequate?"

"Adequate?" Longbottom asked in soft, slightly amused tone.

"Y-es." Severus responded, dry-throated, as the outer panel of his double-breasted dueling vest curled down over itself until its button swung lightly across his abdomen.

"Really? How so?" Longbottom pressed, as his worrisome fingers shifted to Severus's left shoulder, to slip a paired button from its button hole.

With a resigned sigh, Severus reached up to unbutton the lower buttons, running from his shoulder down the tailored dueling vest to the top of his hip, just below the waistline of his dragon-leather breeches.

Before his fingers actually closed on a button, though, Longbottom caught his hands and pulled them back down to his sides.

"I can manage this, unaided; I believe." Longbottom chided him softly, pressing his hands firmly against the outer sides his legs before letting them go. "Thank you."

"Mr. Longbottom, I..." Severus began, only to stop in shock when the teen interrupted sharply, "No. Don't call me Longbottom. ... I'd prefer you to call me by my given name."

Discomfited by the suggestive familiarity, as though the younger wizard truly expected this single anomalous event, to create a relationship between them – despite the entirety of circumstances that stood against the possibility of any such relationship – even if Severus had desired one, which he most certainly did not.

'No,' he reassured himself; despite Longbottom's unexpected charity Severus could not imagine a circumstance that would result in him desiring such a relationship... with Longbottom.

Severus had long ago resigned himself to the fact that the only semblance of association that he could ever hope for was his oath to the Headmaster, and if the boy thought otherwise – Severus intended to divest him of that fallacy, immediately.

"Mr. Longbottom," Severus began a second time, fixing his expression in the most insulting sneer that he could, "You are presuming a familiarity that does not exist. You are neither my equal nor my confidant and regardless of the overindulgence practiced by other staff members and instructors at Hogwarts, you should not allow yourself to believe that this little ... interlude – as you called it – will entitle you to presume any such familiarity in the future."

Longbottom paused, his fingers clenching on the buttons on Severus's collar and shoulder, in the first noticeable sign of pique that Severus had seen, since they entered the room. If Severus's comment had irritated his student, however, he was unable to detect a single trace of it in the younger wizard's one when Longbottom finally responded, "Then, it's all for the better, I suppose, being all the more likely that you'll not refer to me, when we return to the class room, in a name or manner laden with mixed associations."

At the subtle reminder of Longbottom's continued, and largely undeserved, compassion – Severus's cheeks warmed with a flush of embarrassment at his hapless display of pettiness and outright stupidity. Given the treatment that he had shown Longbottom over the previous five years, Severus had ample reason to expect nothing less than abuse from Longbottom. In spite of this, however, Longbottom had seemingly made the decision, for some unfathomable reason, to be as sensitive toward his tormentor's dignity as the situation allowed.

For Severus to turn around and antagonize Longbottom, while the teen still had carte blanc to treat Severus in whatever manner he saw fit, was an act of idiocy that almost equaled the Gryffindors' ludicrous tendency to run headlong into danger at every opportunity - particularly over something as ridiculously harmless as using the boy's surname during an interlude that would presumably be keep private between them.

Realizing that the teen's fingers had remained still on the buttons running parallel to his collar bone – apparently waiting for his response, Severus swallowed dryly before composing himself.

"My apologies... Neville."

"Certainly, Monsieur." Longbottom responded quietly, "If it's of any interest to you, by the way, I recognize that your current role may have influenced your demeanor in the class room to some extent – marginal or otherwise, and I can hardly hate you- as you seem so ready to think – for doing something essential to your survival and continued service to the light... and for whatever portion was was honest anger, I suspect that I've melted enough cauldrons, over-boiled enough potions, and wasted enough ingredients to have warranted it somewhere along the line.

Longbottom's tone sounded absolutely sincere to Severus as he listened, but he could hardly credit the boy's words. Despite what Longbottom said, Severus knew that his persecution of the teen had been practically inexcusable and, though, moderately warranted by the minor destruction the boy had alluded to, Severus had pursued it to excess.

Turning to face his student, Severus forced himself to search Longbottom's eyes for the teen's true feelings.

Longbottom's eyes shined brightly, a chestnut brown with striations of gold running from the edge of his pupil to the outer ring of his iris like the fragile reeds of a paper fan. Meeting his inquiry, Longbottom relaxed confidently beneath his gaze, allowing Severus to study his eyes at leisure. His gaze was filled with the same steady confidence as his relaxed stance – a confidence that should not have been present in the eyes of of an ungainly, unpopular teen, who was engaged in an entirely inappropriate activity with a professor, who had spent a significant amount of time berating him.

Merlin knows, if the truth of their activity came out, it would be Longbottom, not he, who would have suffered for the interaction. While Severus would undoubtedly be made sport of, he was at least politically protected by the fact that, as a slave, he was there under the headmaster's orders. Longbottom, however, had no such excuse, and no doubt he would be as reviled for his kindness by the Gryffindors as he would for his presumption by the Slytherins. Longbottom must have known that, and yet, he had agreed to the headmaster's request – with the same confidence that he had shown the day he stalked into a private meeting between Severus and the Headmaster to boldly announce that he intended to make Potter his slave.

It was a confidence that plagued Severus, enigmatically appearing during their private interactions, then seeming entirely nonexistent in their public meetings – confounding Severus to the extent that he had, more than once, considered using legillimency on the teen, despite Longbottom's ridiculous claim that he had mastered occulmency during a single summer.

Such a ludicrous claim practically pled for someone to destroy it before it lead the gullible, foolishly compassionate teen into a situation that risked his life, limb, and sanity. Given the relationship that Longbottom sought with Potter, the escapade was virtually guaranteed by his proximity to Potter, of course, the teen would probably resent him for destroying his naïve delusions, but if he did so, it would quite probably save Longbottom's life, and if he did it now... it would at least give Longbottom an opportunity to take retribution.

Before he had even finished the thought, Severus was whispering the spell and pushing his mind forward into the teen's memory of a very, very intimate interlude. Though disconcerted at witnessing the scene, Severus could not immediately overcome a perverse satisfaction at encountering this memory first. If Longbottom was to be privy to something as humiliating as the headmaster's punishment of him- there was a certain depraved justice in Severus witnessing equally private and using it to dispel the teens delusions.

Hoping to push his point across as gently as possible, out of a belated gratitude for the teen's own compassion towards him, Severus decided to leave his demonstration off at a simple fact finding operation – discovering the no-doubt closely-guarded identity of Longbottom's lover.

Moving closer to the curtained four-poster, Severus watched through the part in the curtains as Longbottom sat back on his heels and glanced out the gap in the curtains, seeming to look directly at him.

"Enjoying your view?" Longbottom asked in the memory, causing Severus to turn in hopes of finding out who had walked in on the Longbottom's little tryst.


	9. The Art of Being Off-Balance

"Enjoying your view?" Longbottom asked in the memory, causing Severus to turn in hopes of finding out who had walked in on the Longbottom's little tryst.

The potion master's long silence was almost comical as it soon became apparent that the he clearly did not realize that Neville could possibly be speaking to him through his occlumency shields.

It was a natural assumption, of course: the English occlumency methods did not leave room for the belief of any such a possibility – any more than they left room for the possibility of recognizing how Neville intended to use the French methods to ensnare the professor's senses.

Smothering his premature satisfaction, Neville dropped his pitch going for a deeper, lower, huskier note, and asked again: " Are you enjoying your view?"

"Would you care to come closer?" he offered, gesturing toward the four poster bed and the figure sharing the four poster with him: a figure, whose face was obscured from the professor's view by the garnet and gold brocade draperies, but whose body, though still visible, might have seemed a pale-fleshed silhouette, behind the translucent silk sheers.

His offer was met with silence, though Snape turned his head, undoubtedly searching the mental scene that he appeared to believe was a memory for a party he clearly assumed Neville was speaking to ... until Neville murmured "Monsieur" in a throaty note that caused Snape's chin to snap back in his direction so quickly that professor would likely suffer from a pinched nerve later. As his gaze fixed on the potion master's perplexed expression, Neville extended his hand toward the professor, widening the part between the glimmering golden sheers.

"Would you care to see his face?" Neville gently baited his trap.

The potion master's lips snapped shut on a comment that Neville was certain must have been an objection or denial of the possibility that Neville was actually addressing him, and the expression behind his eyes floundered - his eyes flickering back an forth between Neville and the quiescent form beneath him. The dark eyes traced over the passive form beneath him, and Neville smiled as they caught on the glimpse of thigh that could be seen in the gap.

Watching Snape's eyes widening and narrowing as his words caught up with the professor's dazed thoughts, Neville pushed his mental image forward - effectively crawling to the edge of the mattress – then slipped his legs out through the sheers. Snape's eyes lingered on his calves for a moment before sliding back toward the silhouette, with a speculative glance at Neville,

"His..." the professor mouthed silently, not meeting Neville's eyes as he studied the lean, rangy muscles of the form's upper thigh. 'His?' The eyes questioned, glancing quickly at Neville before flaring wide in shock as he realized that he was being watched.

"Any faith," Snape slowly began, clearly attempting to recover his composure, "that I might have had in your discretion, if I had been so foolish as to allow myself the stupidity of extending myself faith in such a ludicrous direction, would have plummeted to its well-deserved death with that question." His tone and words gained vigor as he spoke.

"Surely your... lover would not approve of you playing so fast and loose with his identity?" he stressed the gender attempting to seem marginally at ease.

Neville was far from being fooled by his superficial demeanor, though, and easily caught the still flickering, snitch-swift glances that darted to the passive form now behind Neville.

Despite his protest to Neville's indiscretion, it was abundantly clear, to Neville, that his professor was actually quite interested in the identity of his supposed partner.

"If my memory serves me adequately," Snape prevaricate as he gestured toward the form, "He is not fond of having his personal ... matters ... aired to the... "

Neville fought to suppress the sardonic half-grin trying to take over his lips as the potion master almost visibly avoided the word "affairs"; his words implying a ridiculous speculation that Harry was his lover... even though if he'd thought longer on the matter he'd realize the impossibility of the suggestion given Harry's difficulties.

After a second's worth of thought, the same sentiment, apparently, crossed Snape's mind – causing him to trail off and lift his eyes to meet Neville's curiously.

Shrugging, Neville didn't bother to suppress his blush. It was somehow fitting that Professor Snape was the first person, whom he came out to.

"Oh, yes, I am certain that he'd be – furious - if he were actually my lover; instead of merely the source of the many rich fantasies that fueled my success in occlumency. Without him, I doubt I could have mastered it nearly as well as I have."

"Arrogant twit." Snape chastised, his eyes flaring. "You are not a master! You've no concept of what it would take to truly keep me out of your mind, you would shudder at the thought of it. Mental sheers and drapes ... and equivocations are flimsy defenses for your tryst's name." he growled as he pushed forward jerking the sheers aside- sending a last glare at Neville as he challenged: "Try to keep me from it, if you ca-"

His words ended in a strangled gasp as he looked down into his own face.

Neville rose up beside the frozen potion master with a soft chuckle; the bait taken, it was time to reel his prize in before the professor recognized the necessity to fight his pull.

"I'm almost surprised that you weren't aware of it. Surely, my essays and written work would have shown you by now," he murmured by Snape's ear, "that I'm not as completely pants at potions as all that."

'But, then, you do make it bloody hard to concentrate when your leaning over my desk, barely finger tips away, when I'm brewing. You can't have guessed how many times I've wanted to do just that – reach out and touch you. "

As he spoke, both in his mind, and in their physical aspect, Neville gently the professor's lower his dueling vest off his shoulders and let it drop softly to the floor .

"Then you'd just up and walk away, leaving me no choice but to cause an explosion or melt a cauldron for your attention."

The potion master's voice, when he finally spoke - rigid with pained surprise and unexpected bitterness - pierced Neville to his heart: "Very well played, Mr. Longbottom... your slow build up, and soft assertions effectively sedated my well-justified caution. I allowed myself to be lulled into dropping my guard when the only logical outcome ... was... this..."

Turning his face from Neville, the professor let his voice trail off, after it cracked lightly, and crossed his arms in front of his chest though Neville suspected that it was only to cover an aborted move to wrap his arms around himself.

It infuriated Neville terribly that the professor could only conceive of his claim as a bid to humiliate him further; the headmaster should never have allowed Snape's interests to go so neglected that he could not even recognize the possibility of his being valued or desirable to others for any other reason than his skills as a potion master or his perils as a spy ... but then there were a great many things that the headmaster should not have allowed.

When Neville's thoughts threatened to drift back into the ever-beckoning rage he felt toward the headmaster, had he been alone, he might have indulged himself with a brief explosion, but the Potion Master's brittle presence kept him on task, though he still snarled in the professor's ear "No!", before he paused and returned to a more moderate tone.

"No..."

"I can only fathom the multitude of reasons that you would allow yourself to believe that... but no... This is not about getting revenge or humiliating you. Whether you are prepared to believe it– or not – as it is so evident that you aren't, I find you attractive, desirable, and ... "

"Gullible?" The potion master inquired, his tone barely camouflaging disillusionment and self-loathing.

"No," Neville snapped, more sharply than he intended – cutting the professor off.

"No, and before you start in on whether I expect you to believe me or not; you clearly don't. I don't know, if it's even possible for you to let yourself believe that I want you – like this. You don't let yourself get close to anyone do you. It can't be safe to. Can it? Not with the tight rope you've had to walk."

"Do not pretend an understanding you can not possibly have." Snape retorted, letting Neville know how close he was getting to the heart of the matter.

As much as Neville was tempted to argue with the potion master and convince Snape that he did understand, much more than the wizard could realize, Neville let it go. He suspected that he was so close to the heart of the matter, that pushing it any further would only antagonize the man and force his resistance when Neville wished him to be as unprepared as possible.

"Your juvenile prattle and claims of admiration would be nauseating, if I believed them. It should be needless to say I do not; however, if ... this..." he paused gesturing toward the four poster again, " this... display... is, by even the strangest revolution of your undoubtedly dim wit, not about - - revenge, then for once have the ridiculous audacity of your house to state what it's directive is."

"Very well," Neville conceded, only barely masking a satisfied smile at the fact that he had once again unsettled the potion master enough that he was resorting to insults when he had clearly decided earlier to attempt a courteous manner, "But... you're right..."

Moving closer when Snape's shoulders slumped briefly, until he was close enough that he was fairly pressed at Snape's back - and the professor's posture stiffened in shock- Neville continued, "about Gryffindor's audacity."

He paused giving the Snape the opportunity to pull away from him if he chose to, and almost allowed himself to grin when the Professor stood stock still despite or perhaps because of the obvious evidence of his interest.

"- We're rarely the most eloquent are we? In our compliments or our insults. Never quite as smooth as Slytherins for all our heated passions."

He almost hissed the word 'passions' in the potion master's ear and smiled as Snape shifted – but did not try to move through fantasized bed to get away from him.

"No, Gryffindors are - by far - better at showing, than telling." Neville murmured softly as he trailed his thumb gently down the taut muscle running from the professor's throat to his collar bone, then pivoted until they were both facing the ritual font again.

" 'Adequate,' I think you said," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around Snape until he could catch Snape's wrists. Drawing them back gently, Neville pressed the potion master's wrists to rest lightly against his outer thighs before moving his hands back up to unbutton the light linen shirt the professor had worn beneath his vest. "Adequate ... for our purposes."

Despite the potion master's begrudged passivity at Neville's reminder, Snape reeled when Neville abruptly pushed him from his mind and back into the semi-reality of the room of requirement.

"Impossible!" Snape gasped, turning within Nevile's hold, though he seemed beyond noticing such a small fact as that.

"Impossible," he muttered a hoarse denial, "When I felt your push, I resisted."

"There's no way. You... you should not have been able to overpower that..." he trailed off as he realized that Neville was slowly but firmly maneuvering him backward toward the ritual font.

"Legillimens." he hissed, locking eyes with Neville.

"No," Neville commented, this time simply refusing to allow the potion master's invasion as it pressed against his mental shields.

"Legillimens!" Snape's second attempt was more vehement, louder, and accompanied by a light spray of spittle, if Neville was correct about the sudden moistness he felt on one cheek, as the potion master closed the very slight distance between them.

Glancing at the image in the bed, Neville reinforced his shields with another layer of fantasies and sent a wave of thick arousal through the link that the Professor was trying to secure. Making use of Snape's distraction, Neville murmured the words to trigger the font and lifted the potion master's wrists into the statue's outstretched grip.

As if determined to ignore all outside influences until he had defeated Neville's mental shields, Snape made the very mistake that Neville hoped for – allowing the statue's smooth jadestone grip to close around his wrists, trapping him until the ritual ended, or Neville ordered the statue to free him.

Deftly pulling the linen shirt open and trailing his fingers down the potion master's exposed chest, Neville used the sensation to feed the desire that fueled his mental shields and project more and more sensual images at Snape.

Hoping that Snape wouldn't put two and two together, Neville refused yet another invasion, projecting another image from his fantasies – of the potion master panting and writhing in arousal and turned his attention to the potion master's lower extremities after noticing Snape's eyes widening in shock as he fought to push the image away.

"Inconceivable," Snape panted, presumably unaware that he was doing so because Neville was certain he would have stopped if he knew.

"You are not a master, despite your delusions of being such."

Changing the image that he was sending through the filter of his shields, Neville slowly untied the drawstring on the professor's dragonhide breeches.

"You could not have possibly mastered the art in so little time."

"You might be surprised what I have the will to master." Neville murmured before enjoying a moment of his own audacity, that compelled him to gesture the statue's hold wider so that Snape's arms were almost out straight from his shoulders, giving Neville open access to his the potion master's throat, which he softly leaned in and mouthed until the potion master's breath quickened,

Neville smiled flippantly, and asked, "No?" in a tone bound to provoke Snape's ire – eagerly provoking the man to test his shields again and dredging up more fantasies to feed his defense.

He couldn't believe how easily Snape was playing into his hands, but then Snape had evidently not truly considered the possibility of what he had told Harry when he was trying to explain the French occlumency techniques.

"Legillimens!" Snape gasped, completely unaware that his very attack was helping to ratchet Neville's own arousal as he pulled up image after image to feed his shields.

As he gently pulled Snape's breeches open and let them slide off the professor's rangy hips, Neville softly spoke the words of his oath, barely above the sound of Snape's soft gasps, and newly breaking groans.

"Severus Snape, you have demonstrated yourself to be a slave by swearing your allegiance and allowing yourself to be marked."

Slipping his hands around the potion master's back, Neville began to stroke Snape's back and sides working from his spine, over his hips, around to his front, dipping lower each time, but not dropping below his navel... yet. After a taking a moment to be certaint that Snape was distracted he continued.

"But, after an unconscionable length of time has passed, neither of your chosen have proven their worth by vow, or care. By the rights of Slaves and Slave holders as set down by the five hundredth and seventy second convocation of the Grand Council of Wizards, any master capable of gaining a slave's trust, may claim that slave after a period of no less than seven years if his or her chosen master has not pledged his vow of dominion."

Neville almost groaned in frustration when the Snape suddenly stilled, apparently hearing or recognizing some portion of his words."

"I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, hereby claim you Severus Snape as my slave, on the basis of seven demonstrations of faith and care. I claim you on the basis that your trust was established when you were passive as I tended you in sickness... when you knowingly accepted adulterated substances from my hand. When you accepted my criticism without remonstration... expressed to me dissatisfaction with your chosen's treatment of you. Further it was demonstrated as you stood passive when I stripped you and touched you in an arousing manner. You are a master occlumencer but did not prevent me from speaking to you mentally."

"That's six." Snape finally protested, "You can not with only six. Now, free me. I will not pledge an oath to you, regardless of your tricks."

"No, Severus. There are Seven."

"You are a fool if you believe that I would pledge myself to you. Now release me. There were only six demonstrations, and I guarantee that there will not be a seventh, no matter what tricks you play."

"Ah, but, Monsieur, that is my last demonstration. Fully recognizing the ritual font for what it was, you allowed me to trap you in its grip. Beyond that, neither your oath nor your acceptance are required. Only my oath to bind us... and blood."

"No," the potion master snarled shaking his head in denial. "Don't be an imbecile. You can't do this."

"As I said, you will be surprised what I have the will to master. - - - - I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, having informed, Severus Snape, a slave of my choosing of my right to claim him, hereby seal this claim with my unbreakable oath..." Neville paused smiling at the professor's horrified shout of no, before he continued, "For the full extent of my life, I hereby, knowingly, swear to hold myself and be held responsible for the care, safety, health, and circumstance of Severus Snape. I swear upon my life and magic to defend and guard him with all of the magic, wealth, and power at my disposal."

"No. You oaf... imbecile... dunderhead. There 's more going on than you know."

Neville smiled warmly as he met the professor's shocked and turbulent eyes, but continued: "In exerting my dominion over my chosen slave, as the Head of the House of Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, I hereby with this oath, claim and mark Severus Snape, and name him and any children he may produce as a full members of Longbottom family. So saying, I take this oath, and bind it with my blood."

Despite his denials and protests, when Neville retrieved a blade from the other statue's bowl and lifted his palm to just under the professor's gaze, Snape went silent and still – almost as frozen by Longbottom's words as by the impossibility of a Gryffindor using a blood oath, much less an unbreakable one to claim him.

No matter how impossible it seemed, however, Severus could not deny the swift flash of the blade across the palm of his hand, or the thick stream of blood it caused, nor the the sudden, burning shock of magic that surged through him when Longbottom laid the cut hand at his throat, just under the peaks of his collar bones – emptying him of his magic, then of his consciousness.


	10. Would Be Shepards

"Enervate," Longbottom's sighed command grated Severus' reluctantly returning consciousness, assaulting his hearing like the screeching of mersong, sung above water.

Despite his reluctance to respond to the spell, his mind sluggishly woke, slowly becoming aware of the statue's continued, chill grip on his wrists, sparing him the indignity of crumpling into a mass in the ritual font's still filled, and chilling, pool. Against the damp chill, creeping through his body from his half-dried hair and submerged feet, the rasping tingle of a warming spell embedded in to a towel that had been securely wrapped and tucked at his waist informed him of another indignity that he had at least been spared the conscious experience of. Nevertheless, he ducked his head as he felt his cheeks flush at the thought of Longbottom bathing him by hand.

Still, the Gryffindor might not have stooped to such a thing; when Voldemort had demanded Severus's oath, the dark lord had sealed the ritual by harshly incanting an aquamenti charm – little caring for Severus's dignity or comfort as the bruising and frigid jets of water caused him to choke and splutter, then gasp as they were directed across his face then over other sensitive areas- greatly entertaining the cackling circle of death eaters, whom had been called to witness his initiation (several of whom had found great pleasure in Severus's instinctive shudder throughout the the weeks that followed, whenever he heard the spell whispered).

Dumbledore, with similar indifference, though somewhat more humanely, had sealed the oath by levitating a dampened sponge over him, before using a second spell to conjure a dark robe and drop it over Severus as he escorted a frowning Minerva McGonagall and an irritated Madam Pomfrey to the door.

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Severus wanted to believe that it had been entirely possible that Longbottom had done the same, even, but a fleeting memory of Longbottom's startled expression -as the young man was caught by suprise when Severus's eyes wearily blinked open just as a well-sudded washcloth draped over three fingers gently swiped his cheek – denied the possibility.

Severus, himself, was caught off guard and almost too weary to speak – a fact which must have been apparent in his eyes or expression because after a moment, Longbottom's gentle ministrations paused, and he held Severus's gaze as he softly ordered, "Go back to sleep. I'm almost finished here. We'll ... discuss matters later."

"Weak." Severus obstinately forced himself to complain on a half-supported breath – unwilling to compliantly drift back into the exhausted slumber that threatened to overtake him, regardless of his wishes.

"Yes," Longbottom agreed, in an unexpectedly grim tone, "and I expect you will be for sometime to come. It's a result of the enslavement ritual and my oath, but rest now; we will discuss matters later.

Severus barely mustered the strength to nod, but forcefully agreed with the suggestion. Indeed, he would have much to discuss with the arrogant, irrational Gryffindor – and slave or no – Severus fully intended to see that Longbottom understood the folly of his actions.

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No, Longbottom had clearly taken a more... personal... a more tactile approach.

"Monsieur, " Longbottom's soft-spoken tones crept to him from the shadows just room of requirement's door, "I'll come back to discuss our... change of circumstances... when I think you've had time to adjust to the thought. But for now, just through that door, I've had the room of requirement conjure a four poster for you, should you need to rest. On the table beside it, you'll find a journal ... and a pensieve, I would suggest you view them both, but warn that the journal was my father's, and I will not take it lightly if I find that you have damaged it in any way. "

Unwilling to make a further fool of himself and feeling too weakened and disoriented by the ritual to muster a sufficiently scathing reply, Severus restrained himself to a viscous glare – and ignored the Gryffindor's sigh from the shadows. He refused to even acknowledge to himself the small wince he made at recognizing the tinge of disappointment in the young man's sigh.

Just as he was preparing to question whether the teen intended to release him before leaving, as was clearly his intention, his ears picked up a barely whispered spell, "Pinnulla adlevo" and a soft thrush of magic surrounded him – lightening his weight in the statue's grip. A moment later, it was followed by the soft, almost regretful - "solutum" that released him from the statue's grip.

Despite the teen's use of the more advanced feather light charm, Severus dropped from the statue's hold as if he were a satchel of dragon scales, even down to the sound of it, as his unclothed knees and elbows struck the edge of the bowl. After swallowing several shallow breaths, to catch his wind, Severus pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, fighting not to shiver as he pulled himself out of the font, his hands slapping wetly on the stone floor as he drug himself out.

"Arefacere," Longbottom whispered, sounding almost hoarse, causing Severus to jerk his head up as the drying spell swept over him. He had not realized that the teen had remained in the room, but to his surprise, Longbottom was still standing, just inside the door with his back turned to Severus, his fist gripping the door frame as though it were the only thing keeping him from turning back and rushing to him.

A second hoarse whisper, barely carried to him, "Concalefacere" though its intended warming spell reached him easily and returned his body temperature to a comfortable level, stilling his chattering teeth - just as Longbottom used his grip on the door way to propel himself out of the room.

He stared the door for several moments, trying to finesse the meaning of the teen's unnecessary actions, but finally shook his head admitting – at least to himself that he was too weary to ponder the workings of a gryffindor's mind and turned to crawl into the makeshift room that the teen had indicated.

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As he pushed the door shut at his back, Neville fought to keep himself on the outer-side of it.

Hearing the professor fall like that had been hard, but he known that he'd had to let it happen.

It was as inherent to the ritual as the oath and the bath; Snape had to be brought low to recognize his weakness – so that he could recognize the value of Neville's care of him - assisting their bonding and returning his magic incrementally, as soon as Severus learned to stop fighting the bond.

Dropping his back against the door, Neville sighed and shook his head, listening pointlessly for the sound of any further falls, despite the fact that he had requested a sound-proof door from the room of requirement before they had even gone in. After a moment, realizing that he had begun humming one of his Gran's teaching songs to calm himself, Neville pushed away from the door , let tune recall the words, almost laughing in surprise as he realized which it was, and headed back toward Gryffindor tower as he softly chanted:

All ye, who would-be Shepherds, come!

Come answer the trumpets Call!

But be warned: come wi' yer will

or come ye not at all.

...

For it takes an oath to bind the willing –

an oath to make the stubborn crawl.

Hardened hearts must softened be ,

by gentleness and kindly deed.

...

A shepherd's watchful eyes must learn

their chosen's every need.

Trust must gently gathered be,

'ere the Shepard takes his flock.

...

So, learn ye well yer duties to them,

Let every act take their needs in stock.

Be warned – not all will gladly bow,

nor even the most needy, bend.

...

Yet take, these, too, among yer flock,

Tis the Shepherd's duty, to gather and to tend.

...

By the end of his Gran's chant, Neville had reached the picture guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and was indescribably glad to do so. His hands had been almost constantly tingling since his near heart attack when Snape had collapsed, and his head was practically buzzing with the excess of magic that surged into and bonded with Neville, recognizing him as Severus's sworn protector and availing him of its use.

It was one of the little spoken of side effects of the ritual – allowing a master to protect his chosen slave or slaves with all of the resources in his possession, including every ounce of a slave's magic - Allowing a master to channel it (with practice) as easily as he channeled his own. Magic, itself, willingly participated in the exchange because the master's oath prevented him or her from abusing its use.

Perhaps it was the buzzing that blinded him to the uncomfortable stares of his housemates as he entered the common room, or the random flashes of the potion master's pale scarred skin that kept him from noticing how classmates that he had known for years moved out of his way as he passed, not even wanting to take the chance of brushing into him. It wasn't until he heard the clatter of heels rushing down the stairs from the direction of the sixth year dorms that he looked up to see Hermione rushing down the stairs with an expression of blind fury on her face.

His first thought was that Ron must have really screwed up this time until Hermione's furious rush did not end at the bottom of the stairs but took her directly into his path – stopping her only when she could not go directly through him.

Close up, for all the world, her face most reminded Neville of the depiction of furies in their defense against Dark Arts Texts, and Neville was hard pressed to fight down a comment to that effect as he tried to figure out what to say to her. The need to say anything, however, was completely taken out of his hands as she drew back her arm and struck - barely telegraphing her action as her fist struck him solidly in the right eye- shrieking, as she did, "You filthy Cretin, how could you?"

Trying to figure out what she was referring to, Neville glanced back up the stairs to find Ron looking at him with an expression that was half-smug humor and half-awe. Behind him... quite a bit behind him, Harry stood half-in and half-out of the doorway to their dorm with a far different expression that made Neville's heart feel like it was freezing over. Harry's bright eyes appeared once again, dull and shadowed, uncertain... wary... almost frightened... and worse... frightened of him.

Neville had been certain that he had been well along the way to gaining Harry's trust, but the look Harry was giving him, in that moment, had nothing to do with trust.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked with outrage.

"What?" Ron asked defensively, "You hit him; I'm just asking him if it's true."

"Oh..." Hermione turned back on Neville with a partially sheepish, but mostly impatient, expectant, expression. "Well, is it?"

"Is what?" Neville asked in confusion raising his fingertips to his quickly swelling eye.

"Is – it – True?" Hermione spoke to him as if he were one of Malfoy's goons, before Ron cut her off.

"Mate, did you really make the greasy git a slave?" Ron barely kept the excitement out of his voice as he asked the question.

Oh, Shite. Neville's eyes shot back up to the door, but Harry had disappeared.


	11. Levels of Truth

_Trust must gently gathered be,_

_'ere the Shepard takes his flock._

_So, learn ye well yer duties to them,_

_Let every act take their needs in stock._

_Be warned – not all will gladly bow,_

_nor even the most needy, bend..._

Wishing that he'd had the foresight to pull the drapes surrounding his four poster,as he heard Neville's soft footfalls approaching their dorm's threshold, Harry shut his eyes and turned his head away. If it weren't such a Dudley gesture, he would have thrown his arm across his eyes and announced that he wanted to be left alone. Dudley would have screamed it...

But, Harry was almost afraid that if he gave in to the almost alarmingly strong desire to scream his betrayal at Neville, he wouldn't leave off until every ounce of venom and unrest had been poured out, and then, when everyone knew the truth and still did nothing... Well, Harry didn't want to know what would happen then, so wisely chose to stay silent.

It wasn't as if he didn't already know what Neville was coming up. From the moment that he'd seen Neville's stricken expression turning away from Ron in search of him, he'd known that Neville was going to come up and try to smooth things over. Neville was going to follow him and attempt to salvage what he could of the illusion that he'd been helping Harry out of friendship instead of setting him up to do the very thing that he'd done to Snape – steal his magic... and worse... his freedom.

As much as he had tried to deny the truth of the Headmaster's accusations -swearing, despite the heartbreaking sympathy in the Headmaster's eyes, that Neville was someone he could trust, someone that cared about him just for himself – the truth had been undeniable from the moment that Neville had walked into the room with Snape's magical signature pouring off of him like the tainted stench of a five-pence, grab-bag cologne. All to familiar with Snape's abrasive signature from having it mercilessly ripping through his memories during their covert occulmency lessons, Harry recognized the damning proof that the headmaster was right: Neville had taken, first, the Potion Master's freewill, and then his magic as well – for Harry could conceive of no other logical or reasonable explanation that would account for the Professor giving his magic to a student, whom he despised almost as thoroughly as he despised Harry himself.

Realizing suddenly that it might not safe to lose himself in his thoughts around Neville, as he had just allowed himself to do, purely out of habit, Harry dragged his attention back to the present, only to find that – instead of approaching him and trying to explain himself, Neville had apparently written him off as a lost cause and was kneeling in front of the trunk by his bed rummaging through it with an intense almost longing expression that Harry half wished was directed at him. Not that he actually wanted Neville to keep lying to him, or worse, insult his intelligence by attempting to justify or diminish the horrible nature of what he'd done –

Still, it stung to be so easily written off without even as much of an explanation as an insincere apology. Why on earth had he let himself believe that Neville was any different?

Even as he mentally protested his treatment, though, Harry could almost imagine his relatives sneering comments and cackles at the thought that he had let himself believe Neville's lie – that he deserved any better.

When had anything ever been any different? When had anyone ever truly cared? This was somehow even worse than fourth year when he'd realized that Hermione and Ron would turn on him just as quickly as everyone else when they should have known him well enough to know he wouldn't have put his name in the cup, but they never even asked, just assumed he had and went their own way until the first trial when they finally saw what he'd known the whole time that he stood a good chance of getting killed. That had hurt. Harry had honestly believed that he thought they knew him better than that, cared about him more than that, but that was had been a foolish hope, and he had only himself to blame for believing it because when had anyone ever truly cared about him? For his own sake?

That morning, before the Headmaster's revelations, Harry would have been certain that he could name at least one person that had tried to care about him. After all, Neville had seemed to try to be his friend, even fourth year, when everyone else (even Ron and Hermione) had turned their backs on him – Neville had come out to the lake to keep him company when he didn't feel like staying in the common room. Neville had seemed to care then, and for no other reason than friendship... or so Harry thought, but now, now he could see that that had only been an illusion, a deceit, and he had been a fool to believe in it. Hadn't he learned any better by now?

"Apparently not," he sighed, barely aware that his soft murmur had been heard until Neville snapped, "Stop that!"

"What?" Harry demanded, petulantly, "What am ' _I'_ doing?

"Oh, nothing... nothing at all... and that's exactly it. You've just been told something that's got you seriously freaked out, and I can tell from the way that your watching me - as if you were a pixie, and I a kneazle about to pounce, that you don't even feel at all safe or comfortable in my presence and obviously don't trust me, but - instead of telling me off because you're so sure that I've betrayed you too, or even asking me, "how could I?" ... as far as I can see all you're doing is wallowing in self-pity and wrapping your ever present blanket of insecurities around you so tightly that it's a miracle that you haven't smothered yourself under it."

"It's pretty clear that you've accepted the headmaster's report at face value even though you've known me, day in and day out - for what? Almost six years, now? You've seen what I'm like when I'm upset... When I'm tired... when I'm angry... when I'm hurt. Day in and day out, you've seen how I treat others... how I react to things... what I stand up for ... and yet, you take his every word at face value."

Oh, I know it comes from Dumbledore. There's no one else that it could have come from, but for all that he might be the other savior of the wizarding world, that doesn't make perfect or immune to making mistakes. I get it that he's the headmaster. Everyone loves him... everyone trusts him... an looks up to him as if he's perfect ... as if he can't be wrong, but he can, Harry. He is...

"Don't!" Harry shouted, unable to contain himself any longer, "Don't try to lie about it. I know what you did; his magic - Snape's - it's almost dripping off you - like sweat or something, so don't even try to say that you didn't do it. You did and there's no way that I'll believe that he just gave his magic away. Not Snape - so there's no point to try and deny that you did that other thing too. I'm not stupid."

Harry clinched his fists on his blankets and tried to look away, but Neville's soft response was too compelling: "No, Harry , I won't deny that Severus Snape's magic is at my disposal because I took him as my slave..." 

Pausing as he studied the horror on Harry's face, Neville debated whether he should tell his friend the entire truth or not. It was a risk not to, especially with the Headmaster working against him, but after his morning discussions with Harry, Neville was hardly certain whether Harry could cope with hearing even the easiest revelation that he had made preparations for. Shifting his journal from one hand to the other as he debated the question, Neville barely refrained from cursing the headmaster for pushing him to this when he'd have to know that it would hurt Harry. If he held back, though...

"Harry, yes... I took him as a slave. I . Made. Him. A. Slave. That's the true part of what the headmaster told you, but what he didn't tell you is just as important - Harry. The only way that I could have made him a slave, even against his will, was to have earned his trust then sealed his oath of obedience - an oath made without coercion - with an oath of my own to use every resource available to me - including his own magic - to keep him safe."

Harry's disbelieving eyes fixed on Neville - trying to understand what he was being told - hoping that his friend was being honest with him, but knowing so little about the situation. Harry knew he was clearly struggling with the concept, but he hoped that it wasn't entirely obvious that he was struggling as much with his desire to hold on to his hope that he could trust Neville as he was to rationalize what Neville had done. How could Neville make anyone a slave. The only person who came close to doing something like that, in the Wizarding world, as far as he knew was Voldemort, and Harry was sickened at the possibility that there could be any point of comparison between the two.

"To ... Keep him safe? Nev - " Harry's soft anxious question gave Neville a brief glimmer of hope, especially as his friend paused on the less formal abbreviation of his name before continuing, " but.. he's... he's an adult... a professor, and not like Lockhart, either." Harry broke off, struggling for the least offensive way to make the point he wanted to make, "he's..."

"..."

"he's ..."

Neville almost winced at his friend's pained, awkward pauses. No one else seemed to have noticed, but it came across with perfect clarity to Neville just how much Harry had changed every summer - coming back less confident, less assertive, less whole every year.

"He's..."

"Experienced." Neville offered gently.

"Experienced?" Ron announced his presence with a bark of sardonic laughter, before he continued, "bleeding hell, Neville, he's a sodding death eater!"

Ron's next insult caught in his throat as Neville unexpectedly spun, drew his wand, and shot a light percussion hex into Ron's stomach - knocking the wind out of the redhead.

As Harry and Hermine jerked in shock and drew their wands, Neville startled them both by grabbing the back of Ron's collar and pulling him upright as he shoved his scarred palm directly in front of Ron's eyes with a tight snarl.

"They may not know what this means, Ron, but you certainly should."

Paling as he stared at the still pink scar across Neville's palm, Ron nodded stiffly and let Neville push him up the rest of the way before straightening as Neville pushing him another few feet away.

When Hermione raised her wand as if considering whether to hex Neville, Ron caught her arm and silenced her with a shake of his head, then stepped forward and bowed formally.

"I apologize Neville - to both you and Professor Snape."

"Accepted," Neville agreed, ignoring the expressions of shock on both Harry and Hermione's faces, "But... Ron, it's not a mistake to make twice."

Without waiting for a response from Ron, he turned back to Harry.

"Hare, I don't know what to say that will help you see that you can still trust me, but until you can - Harry... I'm serious about this. You have to be careful and protect yourself. I know you want to trust Dumbledore, but don't let him talk you into taking a loyalty oath. You've already proven yourself beyond any question."

An inarticulate huff broke from Hermione's throat as she half stepped forward ready to interrupt Neville as he opened his mouth to begin to explain the consequences of such an oath for all the world it would do when Harry fairly radiated fear, mistrust, and confusion. Before Hermione opened her mouth to dispute his comment, Ron suddenly grabbed her wrist silencing her, again, with the unexpectedly sharp gesture. When he saw that he had successfully silenced her, Ron turned back to Neville and asked in a voice brittle with understanding, "Snape?"

"Yes" Neville remarked dryly, "Twice before me, and it was still a true taking."

"Shite! I wouldn't have wanted to believe it, but it makes sense - in a sick sort of way." Ron continued despite Harry and Hermione's clear confusion. "I never could figure out why Dumbledore would trust him, but it makes sense now.

"Doesn't it, though?" Neville answered, allowing his anger and disgust touch his voice as he agreed. His eyes met Ron's and for the first time in close to five years, they stared glimmer of true understanding, before Ron blinked suddenly and curse again.

"Damn!" Ron cursed softly, with feeling before he glanced back and forth from the journal in Neville's hands to Harry and then to Hermione. "You'd better get back to him, to Snape. I'll try to explain here... but ... the headmaster told Harry in front of the entire common room; the rumors are bound to get around pretty quick, and I'm betting that there are at least one or two snakes in that nest full of slytherins with a vested interest in making certain that Snape never shares his secrets with his new master."

Rattled by Ron's comment and unable to remember whether he had locked the room of requirement, Neville cursed, shoved the journal that he'd dug out of his trunk into Harry's hands and rushed from the room at a frantic pace. Although their friend ran almost silently, almost as soon as he was out the dorm, they could hear the irritated cries and comments students that he pushed out hof his way ass he made his way across the common room, and then slam of the portrait behind him.


	12. Shepherd's Song

Shepard most kindly  
will you treat your flock.

Yet to wolves show not but staff and rock,  
and let them neither in packs nor alone, harry those  
whom you call your own.

Swing hard your staff, Shepard,  
mark true your throw, and  
to circling wolves no mercy show.

Gasping as he pelted down the stair well, Neville never stopped cursing the headmaster as he ran. He should have realized that the deceitful old man would have reacted badly to losing his most prized puppet- second only to Harry, but this level of betrayal he hadn't even considered possible, and he cursed himself for that idiocy as well.

Given what he knew of the headmaster's past betrayals, he should have expected some retribution, but had allowed himself to be lulled into recklessness when the Headmaster had not seemed to overtly interfere with his attempts to claim Harry. No doubt the headmaster had believed him as incapable of claiming Harry as the Potion Master had, but had allowed the attempt with certainty that he could easily sabotage Neville with a few well chosen words to the vulnerable Gryffindor.

\- . - . -

"Er... Harry, Hermione... Listen, could you sit down, so I can explain this." Ron rambled in awkward apprehension.

"I am sitting down." Harry commented, bewildered by his friends' odd behavior, and Neville's incomprehensible confrontation with Ron - that Ron actually backed down from. Ron never backed down from anything.

"Oh, right. Hermione, you sit down, and for once, just let me talk, okay. Cos this is gonna be hard enough to get through with out a bunch of questions."

Ignoring Hermione's huff as she flopped down on the corner of Harry's bed, Ron looked at Harry with the most serious and expectant expression that Harry thought he had ever seen Ron wear. Not knowing what Ron really wanted from him, Harry simply nodded.

Not looking particularly relieved by their compliance, Ron paced back a few seconds before turning back to them with an uncomfortable, embarrassed expression.

"Look, the first thing you've gotta understand is that while the muggle world and the wizarding world are alike in a lot of ways; in some ways they are nothing alike. Slavery is one of those ways. In the muggle world, I know that a lot of muggle masters mistreated and exploited their slaves and because of that muggles made it illegal, but that can't happen under under our system. "

"No, Hermione," Ron broke off, anticipating the protest she was clearly gearing up to make. "It literally can not happen in a true slavery. Wizarding slavery hinges on the master taking an unbreakable oath to protect, provide for, and care for a chosen slave, who in turn offers an oath of fealty and service to the chosen master.

Mind, It hasn't always been perfect, and we know it. A couple of hundred years ago, slavery was such a good deal, particularly for weaker witches and wizards and those who didn't have enough skills to make a good living for themselves, that it got pretty competitive. Some of the more powerful masters were even able to get witches and wizards who wanted to be slaves to pledge fealty and service oaths for an indefinite period to "prove themselves worthy" of the burden they would be adding. That did lead to some abuses, and a couple of laws were put in place, including a seven year rule on taking slaves that would allow another wizard, a concerned master to take another wizard's pledged slave who had given its oath and served in good faith if the master receiving its pledge did not turn around and give the slave his or her oath of dominion by the end of the seven years."

Ron watched their stunned expressions, hoping for the change that would tell him they were going to jump to the right conclusion, so he wouldn't have to say it, but as he watched, he soon realized that they still didn't grasp the key bit he'd just told them.

"The second thing that you've got to understand is that Neville didn't make Snape a slave, not really."

Catching the first angry clench of Harry's jaw, Ron raised his hand hurriedly to wave off Harry's argument before it started.

"Harry, he really didn't, unless you think that Snape willingly pledged his oath of fealty to Neville?"

"I felt Snape's magic running off him like sweat, Ron. He made Snape his slave."

"Wow, you really felt that? From that far away? That's a really rare talent, did you know?"

"Ron! You're getting off track," Hermiome protested, stamping her foot before she challenged, "And you can't say that he didn't make Professor Snape his slave when he admitted to it himself."

"But Ron's right, Hermiome," Harry interrupted, starting to work out both Ron and Neville's comments for himself. "Snape treats Neville like he's an idiot and maybe part of that is because he's a spy, but not all ..."

Harry broke off as Hermione gasped, "Ohhh."

"That's what you meant," she continued after a thoughtful moment, "when you said it makes sense that Dumbledore trusted him. Neville couldn't make him a slave because he already was one! He'd already made his oath to someone else... someone he'd served for at least seven years..."

"Dumbledore," Harry answered numbly as their words fell into place with sickening accuracy, "That's why he said I shouldn't let the headmaster talk me into an oath of loyalty because he might try to trap me, too, and I wouldn't have even known about the other oath that he was supposed to make."

Harry pulled his knees up into his chest, and wrapped his arms around them, feeling as if he'd crumple with even one more blow.

"I'm sorry, Harry. " Ron mumbled, guessing how hard his friend was taking the revelation.

"Wait a minute," Hermione blurted out, "Neville said "twice before, and it was sitll a true taking." Does that mean he was someone else's slave before that? And, that person had let the seventh year lapse as well? He's been a slave for over fourteen years?"

"Longer." Harry answered as he remembered a bit of Dumbledore's memory from the penseive fourth year. At their curios looks he explained, "Remember, I told you about Dumbledore's memories that I saw during the tournament. Snape's been spying for the order since before Voldemort fell."

"And you-know-who would have had to have been his other master, then. Well that figures." Ron shrugged at the obviousness of it. Sometimes, he hated being the one who was always pointing out the obvious, but there were just times when you had to or the conversation would grind to a dead stop.

"But" Hermione protested, "that would have made him not even twenty, and for the seventh year to lapse he would have had to have taken his oath when he was twelve?"

"Blimey. A slave at twelve? Cor but that's harsh." Ron said wonderingly. 

The timing fit, but when Neville had let the gnome out of the bag, he hadn't stopped to think about the implications of what their friend had been saying.

\- . - . -

 

Neville slammed through the door to the room of requirement, gasping to catch his breath, as he glanced around the room.

It looked just as he left it. Nothing overturned, nothing broken -or torn- he noted, his eyes falling to the professor's strewn clothes.

"Monsieur?" He called out breathlessly,

He first answer was silence, but a moment later, a soft rasping voice reached him, " In here."

Relieved by the response, Neville ran through to find the professor sitting up in the bed he'd prepared for him, his father's journal splayed open across the professor's lap. The professor looked pale, wan, and oddly uncomfortable.

"Your father..."

"Yes, he knew: Gran said he saw the bruises that you came back with after the holidays, first year, but she blocked him, thinking he was too young for that kind of responsibility and you too young to be a slave."

"Not everyone thought so." the professor responded dryly.

"No, my father was furious when he found out; he blamed Gran you see. I'm not sure he ever forgave her."

"It was my choice," Snape answered with a fatalistic shrugg.

"You say that like you were given a choice. You weren't. The headmaster refused to protect you, just as he has Harry, sending you back to abusive muggle relatives without recourse. Is it any surprise that you would gravitate to the first person offering to protect you from their mistreatment?"

"Do not speak of what you do not know!" The professor slammed the journal shut and pushed it away.

"There's no time for it any way. Get up."

"I am still feeling ... drained." Snape refused obstinantly.

"Yes, and you will continue to feel so - as long as you continue to fight your change in circumstance. There's no time to talk about it now, though. The wolves are coming."

Professor Snape cocked his head, staring at Neville uncomprehendingly. Neville ached sympathetically at the pain he knew it would cause the professor, but explained nevertheless.

"I'm sorry that I didn't anticipate this, but... The Headmaster told Harry- in front of the entire Gryffindor common room, about ... This ... Everyone in the entire school will know by now, and the wolves will be coming. "

"No... " Snape protested "Albus would not have..."

He fell silent at Neville's expression of pained sympathy and handed him his father's journal, before turning his legs out from under the blankets folds and pushing to his feet.

"Wolves?" He finally asked, when he was standing steadily.

"Oh, I'm certain that a few will be coming to silence you before I can niggle out any of Voldemorts dirty little secrets, but there's likely to be a handful more who are coming to test the taking."

As a confused look rose on the still off balance, unsteady professor's face a thought suddenly occurred to Neville, "I should have realized. You were raised by a muggle, and neither of your other chosen would have wanted you to know about true slavery. Blast, I don't have time to explain it now. We have to get you dressed. Room, I want dragon-hide dueling armor to these specifications.."

\- . - . -

 

"But, what about taking his magic, that can't be right! And, I know I felt Snape's magic."

"Yeah, you said that. You know it's a pretty rare talent you've got there. Any one with it is an automatic hire with the duelists guild because you can always read when the opponents are mismatched."

"Ronald!"

"Oh, right, his magic. Don't worry that only lasts for a couple of days while their bond's being tested. Then he'll get it all back."

"He was telling the truth." Harry murmured with confused relief. Neville had been telling him the truth, and even if the headmaster had been right, and Neville had planned to do the same thing to him. The oath he'd have to take to do it... Well, that was something he'd always wanted: someone who made him a priority, someone who wanted to protect him, to take care of him, to provide for him... even knowing that he was as weak as he was, as damaged as he was.

"Yeah, he was."

"Ronald, what do you mean 'tested' ?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"It's always a part of it." Ron began uncomfortably, "after the taking, anyone with an interest in challenging it can, as long as Snape's magic hadn't settled. Once it has, the testing time's over, and they have to leave off."

"How do they test it, though?" Hermione asked with concern.

"They go through him to get to Snape, and if they can injure Snape, his oath's broken and Snape's a free man again, but without protection."

"What!" Both Hermione and Harry shouted, jumping from the bed and running for the hall.

"Wait, Harry damn it, wait. You can't interfere."

Ignoring his cautions, Harry rushed down the hall and down the stair, alternating between taking the steps two and three at a time, until Ron caught up with him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to a stop.

"Harry, you CAN'T interfere! If you do, his oath is just as broken as if he lets Snape get hurt."

"At least, he'll still be alive."

"No, Harry. He most likely won't. Remember the scar he showed me? The one on his hand? He's taken a blood oath - most likely pledging his life and magic to protect Snape. "

 

Severus Snape listened with a feeling of surreal bemusement as Longbottom broke off from singing his grandmother's 'teaching song' to kneel and secure the dragon-hide braces at Severus's mid shin. After the teen had rattled of a long, but commendable, list of precautions to be worked into the dueling armor, Severus had been amazed when Longbottom had sized it him- believing -at first- that Longbottom intended him to fight his duels for him.

That belief had dwindled quickly as the young fool began singing his insipid teaching songs, and Severus saw that he actually believed them. Each and every song was a trite reminder of a shepard's duty to his flock, or by metaphor the master's duty to protect and provide for his slave. Longbottom's seeming unsuitability for his house, not withstanding, Severus had no doubt that the teen's delusions of, as yet unfounded, mastery in occlumency combined with the everpresent Gryffindor zeal for pyrrich victories had confounded the teen into the belief that he was capable of facing the phalanx of primarily Slytherin upper years who would come to prevent Severus from revealing the death eater's secrets and identities, or simply counting on Longbottom's well known inadequacy to secure better positions for themselves or their parents in Voldemorts precarious hierarchy.

Despite the lunacy of the belief, Severus was rather ... favorably influenced... by the realization that Longbottom did not, at least, consider him a pawn. That consideration, in itself, Severus suspected, was unique to Longbottom, and he momentarily paused to wonder how it could be that the individual, whom he had most mistreated, aside from Potter, himself, should be the first person in his recent memory, who did not consider him an expendable commodity.

"Monsieur..." Longbottom gently interrupted his thoughts. "I would not ask this other wise, but even with the few inches I've gained over the summer, you're still taller than I am."

"And this comes as a surprise to you?" Severus asked archly and was answered with a grin - that he had not intended to invoke.

"No, it doesn't surprise me, but it does mean that I have to ask you to do something I would not have otherwise asked of you."

"And what precisely would that be?" Severus asked, stiffening suspiciously.

"When they come, please kneel behind me, so that you are a more difficult target to hit."

"Longbottom, you're well intentioned delusions aside, while you are no doubt aware that I am still suffering from an unwarranted and unsolicited draw on my magic, I am still capable of practicing magic, and of defending myself."

"You are?" the fool asked, with an inexplicable smile, before he shook his head and explained in a most infuriatingly blunt manner: "I'm glad to hear that, but it doesn't matter. I made an oath to protect you, on my magic and my life. If I break it, either by allowing someone else, including yourself, to protect you in my stead, or by failing to protect you myself, my oath's broken and we are both quite likely to be dead before nightfall."

Severus could have gladly throttled the oaf, both for wagering his own life on such a profitless risk, and for placing Severus himself in such unnecessary peril, but before he had the opportunity, the room of requirement's door rattled on its hinges and Longbottom was pushing him to his knees as he turned to face the expected onslaught. If the boy survived this, Severus was going to insure that his ears rang for weeks.

"Protego!"

...

"Dissendium..."

...

"Confringo"

...

"Errhhhhg...Protego!"

The room rocked around Severus, disintegrating as spells flew wildly back and forth between their attackers, and his surprisingly adequate defender. So far, Longbottom had managed to keep his sheilding spells in place even as he attacked, but with the shuffle and clatter of heels at the end of the hall, he was certain that success could not last long.


	13. The Wolves Descend

Severus cursed under his breath as a barely-deflected curse that richocheted off of the idiotic Gryffindor's over-powered shield.

The stupid boy!

In addition to clothing Severus in nearly impervious dragonhide dueling robes that- from Longbottom's specification to the room of requirement- might as well have been classified as a suit of feather-light-charmed battle armor, the ridiculous boy had cast two disillusionment spells, a silencing spell, two notice-me-not spells, and a cushioning spell on him... And was continuing to power them while battling the string of on-comers.

How the moronic idiot remained standing was a mystery to Severus.

Longbottom had taken numerous hits from falling debris once his opponents realized how little effect direct attacks were having on the over-powered shields and began destroying furniture as both a distraction and a weapon- sending shrapnel through shields designed to block magic. Despite those hits, the sheen of sweat running down his cheeks and forehead – into his eyes, and the trembling of limbs from the sheer effort of extended dueling, Longbottom was, somehow, unimaginably, still holding his own. In fact, Longbottom was taking down his opponents with low level spells and destroying their wands with an economy of movement that none seemed to expect... especially not Severus, who - in spite of himself - was beginning to harbor a begrudging modicum of respect for the young man.

フレンーキンー

"He most likely won't," Ron's words ran through Harry's thoughts as he descended the stairs three and four at a time.

He couldn't stand the thought of Neville facing all of the Slytherins whose death eater parents would have sent after Snape - alone. He knew he couldn't help. He couldn't interfere, without taking the risk of causing his friend to forfeit his unbreakable oath... but he couldn't leave Neville alone, either.

Thankfully, Ron and Hermione seemed to understand, at least enough that they weren't trying to hold him back; although, he could feel their worry practically pouring down the stairs ahead of them.

He could tell that neither of them believed that Neville was likely to win and probably worried about Harry watching it. He didn't know what he believed, but whatever the outcome, he was certain of one thing- he owed Neville too much too just abandon him.

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"Swing hard your staff, shepherd," Neville sang out energetically, taunting the seventh year Ravenclaw, who had just stepped into the room of requirement to replace the seventh year Slytherin, who had fallen only a moment before and lost his wand.

"Mark true your throw. To circling wolves..."

Neville practically grinned as his odd confidence, singing, and fallen opponents caught the Ravenclaw off-guard.

"No mercy show!"

"Let them - neither in packs- nor even alone, harry those you would call your own."

Everyone who had come to the room of requirement so far had expected to be dealing with "Longbottom, the loser", never realizing that his seeming incompetence had been the result of his Gran binding his magic before he'd come to school - just so he would have this very advantage when it came time to take his rightful place.

She had only finally removed the bindings on his magic the previous Christmas, after Mr. Weasley had been attacked and it became clear that there was only a very short time left before the war resumed.

The Ravenclaw, whom Neville vaguely remembered was called Hodgens, unlike the the Slytherins, assessed the situation carefully and managed to catch Neville off-guard, icing the floor beneath his feet.

As Neville slid half a step before Hodgens cast a high powered reducto on the frozen stone floor between his feet causing it to shatter - explosively - giving Neville his first true wound when a shard of stone, propelled by the force of the explosion, stabbed into his upper calf.

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Harry was just catching the edge of the handrail, to turn toward the room of requirement when a soft curious voice stopped him into his tracks.

"Where are you rushing to, Harry?" The headmaster asked him softly as if he didn't know.

"You lied to me!" Harry accused angrily storming at the Headmaster, momentarily forgetting his intended destination as the headmaster withdrew in the direction of his office... as if they could have a calm, pleasant conversation about some miscommunication.

"No, Harry." Dumbledore smiled down at him gently, patiently, as if he were a toddler protesting his bedtime. "You weren't lied to. Young Mr. Longbottom did take Severus as his slave, and he did announce his intention to treat you similarly."

"It's just like you did with the occlumency lessons; if you had told me why I would have understood he was trying to give me those visions and would have known not to go to the ministry. Sirius would have been alive if you had told me the truth."

"We are all fallible, Harry. All human and prone to errors in judgment. I should have informed you of the prophecy, earlier, but I have explained why I did not. Out of care for you, just as I am now telling you the truth. Mr. Longbottom wants to make you his slave, Harry. Is that what you want for yourself? Is that how you wish to spend the remainder of your time until the prophecy... comes to pass?"

フレンーキンー

Severus flinched and cursed heatedly as the stone floor exploded in front of him.

Not a shard nor a speck made it through the ridiculous shields, much less the dragon-hide armor that the blasted boy should have been wearing. As he caught his breath, the sharp bitter scent of copper assaulted his nose before his eyes fell to the jagged chunk of stone, covered in blood, barely visible as it stuck out of the hole it had cut in Longbottom's pant leg.

His mouth went dry as he studied what little he could see of the heavily bleeding wound. While it did not appear to be close to a major artery, it had clearly cut a vein or smaller artery and was inflicting damage to his calf muscles and would continue to do so every time the misguided fool moved. Worse yet, while Longbottom was dueling, the fight or flight instinct natural even to wizards would prevent his healing magic from activating.

If the duels didn't stop soon, Longbottom could end up crippled by the injury, or worse if it prevented him from avoiding a more serious spell.

When Ravenclaw went down, Severus did not allow himself to examine the surge of savage satisfaction that went through him when Longbottom summoned the wand and snapped it by hand, instead of using the nutcracker charm he had used with the others.

When Severus looked up, however, his throat tightened: Hodgens had been replaced by his godson.

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Tbc... Spew Revisited: Hermione gets to put her two cents in; Draco is in for a surprise; and Harry finally figures things out. Plus a dollop of Luna.


	14. Chapter 14

Severus watched as Draco walked into the Room of Requirement, looking worse than Severus had ever seen him. Draco was pallid, disheveled almost to the point of being un-groomed, thinner than he should have been for having spent weeks back at Hogwarts, where high calorie fare was constantly available to meet the high energy output of teens learning to control their magic. His stride had a superficial mask of haughtiness that Severus easily read through.

Anyone who was not familiar with Draco might think his clearly diminished condition would mean that Draco was less dangerous, less of an opponent because he frightened, but the reverse was true.

When Draco was under pressure, he became unpredictable. His judgment wavered, and he would take risks that would make Gryffindors blanch. Draco often didn't think when he was threatened, but reacted striking out at anything in his path without considering whether it would nullify the threat.

Or, at least that described Draco when he was under normal stress. The mission that Voldemort had set Draco had put his godson into a turbulent state that was as much a mix of immobilizing fear and hopelessness as it was a mix of mindless desperation and unremitting panic.

In what little time Severus hadn't spent working on a cure to stop the curse devouring the headmaster's body and magic; monitoring Longbottom's ridiculous - though unexpectedly successful- pursuit of Potter; and teaching miscreants, dunderheads, and the truly hopeless a subtle art that they were beneath understanding- much less applying- he had been watching over Draco as much as he could and was much displeased with his observations.

His godson was barely eating enough to keep a flobber worm alive, hardly sleeping, and nearly failing every class. The other professors assumed that the trauma of having his father sent to azkaban was responsible for his decline where Severus understood that callow teen was forced to face choices that had broken stronger men.

There was no question why Draco had come, the Dark Lord, sadist that he was, had saddled Draco with yet one more harrowing task: to attack and kill his own godfather, the wizard who had held him even before his mother and heard his first word, and doing so murder a schoolmate. Severus's heart ached for his godson.

Draco truly had no choice, and no hope. No matter the outcome of the night, Draco would not live to celebrate his coming of age.

If his godson did get the advantage of Neville, which given Longbottom's recent performance might not be as certain an he would have once predicted- despite the thorough and horrific education in the Dark Arts that Lucius had forced upon his son- Draco would still be held to his previous, impossible mission. If he failed that, it would mean death at the Dark Lord's hands. If he succeeded, death at the ministry's. If he did not even attempt it, death from his unbreakable oath. Severus truly saw no out.

Tensing as Neville addressed Draco, Severus froze in shock as he listened with numb astonishment to the Gryffindor's words.

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Hermione watched as the headmaster's words visibility affected Harry, with growing anger. She'd never realized how manipulative the elderly wizard was or how much he relied on half truths and omissions.

When they had first run into the headmaster, she had -initially- been relieved, but that relief had quickly died as she listened to the headmaster twist Harry's emotional strings. His using Neville to do so was just infuriating.

Hermione still thought that slavery of any form was reprehensible, even with the safeguards that Ron had described. If Neville survived whatever dueling was going on to test his ownership of Professor Snape, Hermione had half a mind to hex him until he agreed to free the Professor or send him howlers every day at every meal to give him a taste of the humiliation that he was forcing on the already miserable potion master... Or both, they weren't mutually exclusive activities after all. She was truly that mad at Neville.

But as mad as she was, she couldn't deny that something had been going on between Harry and Neville since the beginning of classes, and whatever it was or had been, it had been helping Harry come out of the depression that he had gone into since the end of last term and Sirius's death.

When they had returned to King's Cross Station, Hermione had been startled and aghast to see just how bad Harry had gotten. She had hoped that the summer away from the magical world would have given Harry time to grieve and get away from all of his troubles, but her first sight of him at 9 and 3/4's had shown her just how futile her hope had been.

Harry had been withdrawn, almost emaciated, and untouchable, shying away from her when she had wanted to give him a comforting hug. When they took their usual cabin, he had just huddled in the corner staring out the window, barely responding to anyone unless the question was asked repeatedly. Even hours later, when she and Ron had come back from the prefect meeting, it was clear that Harry hadn't moved at all and the chocolates that his friends had offered him were untouched at this side. That was when she'd first noticed that Neville was watching Harry with an intense gaze.

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"Draco, if I had information for you that you could leverage for reprieves from ... unwelcome political associations, would you be willing to stay our duel long enough for me to have my leg healed?" Neville offered almost amicably, startling both the blonde Slytherin and, from the intake of breath behind him, his new charge.

"Why should I give away my advantage?" The blonde asked testing the waters.

Draco's sneer, as he continued, might have been impressive if there wasn't a clear tinge of desperation glazing his eyes. "What kind of information could you have that would gain me anything?"

Seeing his bait being taken, Neville asked with a cautiously even tone, to avoid antagonizing the clearly jittery Slytherin, "Were you aware that your father was sent to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve a prophecy?"

"We're not talking about my father." The blonde erupted, throwing a hex at Neville that Neville was careful not to deflect with too much ease. Over the past six years, he'd seen how Draco had reacted to displays of greater power or skill, and it was always with defiance and offense. Neville had too little time and too much to lose by driving Malfoy to make rash desperate decisions.

"No," he said calmly. "I have no intention to; however, what he was sent to retrieve..."

"It was destroyed!" Draco argued with angry certainty.

"Yes. That globe of it was, but what almost no one realizes is that it was not the only globe made of that Prophecy. There were three. One for each possible member of the prophecy: 3 globes that could only be touched by the name specified on the base. Two, in fact, have been destroyed, and the third..."

"What? What happened to the third?" Draco asked urgently.

"You're willing to negotiate then?"

"Yes, if you're telling the truth, this other globe is of the same prophecy, and you can tell me who has has it? Then yes, I won't try to duel with you while you are having your leg healed."

"Or attack ... anyone under my protection?" Neville prompted, in a firm unilateral tone. This was non-negotiable, and Draco had to understand that from the start.

"... Okay."

"You agree to and seal this negotiation with your magic?"

"I do."

"And you, do you swear on your magic that you are telling the truth about the globe? That it contains the same prophecy that the Dark Lord was seeking? That it hasn't been destroyed, and that you know who possesses it and will tell me?"

"I do."

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Severus could not have been more astounded when Longbottom dropped the silencing and disillusionment charms hiding him. The risk that Longbottom was taking to have his leg healed was nearly incalculable, and more so in that the risk did not affect himself alone. By making this wager, he was quite literally putting the entire war effort in jeopardy.

Yet, there seemed something so calculated in Longbottom's negotiation and mention of the prophecy that Severus was determined to fight his first inclination to throttle the rash teen, who seemed intent on proving his placement in Gryffindor had some merit despite his recent glimpses of cunning.

Another aspect stayed his hand, as well; if Draco, by chance managed a victory, Snape would be beyond caring for the outcome of the war, and the information that Draco could gain might well be the only chance his godson had to survive.

"Monsieur?"

Snape snapped his attention to Longbottom in surprise, apparently not having heard his summons.

"What?" he snapped, suddenly discomfited at being revealed to his godson kneeling behind Longbottom for his own protection.

Longbottom's slow pained smile was several shades too understanding for Severus's taste, embarrassing Severus even further with the knowledge that outside of taking him as a slave, Longbottom had been rather far too decent to him during the entire taking and aftermath, with little cause.

"I believe that you might be better placed to remove the bit of stone and treat the wound."

"Of course," Severus nodded abruptly, suddenly glad to have a task requiring his immediate and complete attention. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to be drawn into a conversation with his godson about their current circumstances.

"This will hurt," he warned as mildly as his normal manner would allow.

"It already does," Longbottom answered with laudable stoicism, before turning back to Draco.

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Over the first weeks back at school, Hermione and Ron had spent every private moment and prefecture patrol discussing what they could do to bring Harry around.

Then about the third week in, Harry smiled at something Seamus said. A day or two later, he laughed at a comment Neville made, and they began to see a turn in the road.

Ron had begun to mention, with more than a little relief, that several times, he'd woken in the middle of the night to find Neville already awake and helping Harry talk out a nightmare or vision- a task that Ron seemed to find tiring and disturbing and was all too glad to relinquish to Neville. In the days that followed, Hermione began to notice other small hints that of a deeper connection between their friends, but she kept them to herself after one of the seventh years had left an alternative lifestyle magazine in the fourth floor baths and Ron had ranted vilely before destroying the magazine in disgust.

After that, she'd done everything she could to distract Ron from the little signs of the growing closeness (looks that lingered longer than they should, inexplicable smiles, and glancing touches) between Harry and Neville, especially as it became more and more apparent that Harry had withdrawn from his friendship with Ginny.

"...Is that how you wish to spend the remainder of your time until the prophecy... comes to pass?"

Broken away from her thoughts by the headmaster's comment, she stared at him with increasing suspicion- scowling at him when he raised an arched eyebrow to stare at her curiously.

"Miss Granger, I remember with great clarity your conviction and tenacity in the matter of house elf rights. Surely, you must have something to say?"

"Yes, yes, I do. Headmaster," Hermione began choosing her words carefully...

"I think slavery in any form is reprehensible. Even with the safeguard of an unbreakable oath, I just can't understand how someone as sweet, as gentle, and as kind as Neville could participate in a practice that twists another's need for protection into an exploitation of trust and a denial of the other's basic civil liberties. The very idea of someone using someone else as a pawn to achieve their own ends makes me shudder, but as despicable..."

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Listening to Hermione's description of Nevile's actions, Harry wanted to protest on Neville's behalf. His friend had never put his own needs or desires before Harry's.

Even back in second year, when everyone thought Harry was the Heir to Slytherin and treated anyone that Harry hung around with as outcasts, Neville had shown his friendship. Third year, when everyone seemed to shy away from him - afraid that associating with him would somehow make them targets for Sirius Black, Neville would keep him company at lunch and in the library - sitting on the other side from Ron. Fourth year, when even Ron had turned away from him and Hermione had chosen Ron's side, Neville had kept him company even though the rest of the school seemed to think he was a cheat. Last year, Neville had fought with him at the Ministry right up until the end, and this year he'd kept Harry's secrets even when he probably shouldn't have, had healed his injuries, had been a sounding board whenever Harry needed, and was even trying to teach him occlumency.

Hermione had no idea how much Neville had done for him or how much Harry owed Neville. He owed Neville so much, and every second the Headmaster delayed them was keeping Harry from getting to his friend's side and trying to figure out how he could help without interfering.

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Biting down on the exclamation of pain that almost escaped him when Professor Snape inadvertently jarred the shard while widening the hole in his pant leg, Neville turned back to Draco and gestured towards the door.

"Privacy charms might be in order if you want to maintain your leverage." Neville hissed through gritted teeth.

He had expected Draco to immediately take advantage of his suggestion- recognizing that it would be in his own best interest to have a monopoly on whatever he was about to be told, but – instead- the blonde was staring at him oddly.

"What? Why are you..." apparently anticipating the end of Neville's question, Draco interrupted, "Monsieur? You call him Sir?"

"Of course," Neville answered quietly, understanding what Draco was implying, just as he had understood the treatment Professor Snape had anticipated from him, but wanting Draco to working it out for himself.

"But, he's your slave."

"As he was Dumbledore's and Voldemort's before me. That changes nothing."

"Now that he's yours, though, you don't have to..." Draco shrugged awkwardly, not really wanting to acknowledge that Neville could use the slave bond to humiliate the man who had never appeared to show him as much as common courtesy.

"Draco, I took an unbreakable oath of dominion, swearing to hold myself accountable for his welfare. How could I hope to keep that if I don't start with basic respect?"

"Oath of dominion?" Draco questioned with confusion, and Neville could have almost cheered despite the stabbing pain that he was currently trying to ignore. He hadn't expected to gain enough of Draco's trust in the time allotted to get around to this point, but the innocent question gave him the means to plant several critical concepts in Draco's thoughts without seeming to have a motive to do so.

"Yes. Monsieur, would you be kind enough to pause for a moment and show Draco both of your forearms?"

Although glancing up at him with narrowed eyes, Professor Snape did as he asked and stared down at his forearms, his shock equal to Draco's as they stared at pale unblemished skin.

"Your Dark Mark?" Draco gasped swaying as he stated the obvious, "It's gone."

"Yes, his mark faded because it was not the mark of a true taking. Professor Snape's oath of fealty was given in good faith – or the mark would have never adhered, but the Dark Lord never – in the allotted 7 years- held up his end of the bond by taking the oath to provide for and protect him in return."

Neville paused for a moment to let that thought sink in, before he continued, "Without that Oath of Dominion, or if he had been coerced into taking the oath by a threat to himself or his family, his slave bond could be disrupted by any Master who proved worthy of his trust by seven acts and then secured the bond with an Oath of Dominion – given in good faith."

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"...but as despicable as I truly think that slavery is, using the threat of it to trick someone into a camouflaged equivalent to slavery without those safeguards inherent in the true form of slavery that Ron described... is beyond morally reprehensible. Personally, I think that Harry would be better off in the hands of someone like Neville, who would at least take his well-being seriously enough to pledge himself to Harry's protection, instead of manipulating him year after year into dangerous situations that never should have been allowed to occur."

As she paused to take a breath, Hermione almost giggled at the look of shock and consternation on the Headmaster's face.

"Miss Granger, I assure you that I truly..."

"Have Harry's best interests at heart?" She challenged audaciously, "Just like you had Professor Snape's? Sending him back and forth between two Masters regardless of the fact that he had to have been suffering from conflicting oaths."

"Miss Granger! Harry, my b-" The headmaster trailed off as he finally got over his astonishment at the girl's unexpected words and looked around for the boy.

"He's not here, Headmaster," Ron explained as he nodded toward an elf that the headmaster hadn't noticed appearing.

"Explain yourself, Mr. Weasley," the Headmaster ordered even as he turned to push past the boy, only to be halted when the elf raised his had imperiously.

"Master Harry was asking Dobby to take him to the come and go room, Master Headmaster, Sir, and Dobby was asking Bobbin to stay with Master Headmaster, Sir, and to not be letting Master Headmaster, Sir be following Master Harry because Master Harry is needing to get to his good friend Master Lord Longbottom, Sir."

"Dobby is a free elf, Bobbin, surely you realize that, and recognize that although we've taken him in at Hogwarts, he is not truly in the hierarchy of elves and does not have the right to command you."

"It's interesting how quickly your thoughts refer back to slavery when someone makes a decision you don't like," Hermione challenged hoping to stall the Headmaster further. She had no idea what Harry was going to do, but she was beginning to think that she knew what might be best for him to do.

"Young Lady, while I normally respect your intellect, I do not have the time to address the flaws in your muggleborn assumptions." Trying to push past her, he was held in place by a wave of magic from the house elf's hand.

"Bobbin, release me! At once!"

"Yous is forgetting Master Headmaster, Sir, that Bobbin was also a free elf that you took from Master Severus Sir when you took him as your slave. As Master Severus is being Master Lord Longbottom's slave, nows, Sir. Yous is not in the hierarchy of wizards, Sir, who is being able to be telling Bobbin what Bobbin cans and cantses be doing."

Despite herself, Hermione grinned at the little elf's statement. She truly loathed the thought that the elf had been treated like a piece of confiscated property, but the irony of the situation was … perfect... really.

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It was only after he'd finished debriding Longbottom's wound that Severus realized what the teen was doing and inadvertently let his hand grip Neville's leg more firmly than he'd intended as he wondered how the hat had possibly justified putting the utterly Slytherin teen in the rival house. When Longbottom looked down at his gesture, the sly smile in the teen's eyes almost made him groan.

It was truly a miracle Severus thought to himself that he had managed to mislead the Dark Lord as long as he had when a Gryffindor could so deftly out think him.

Recognizing that he couldn't interfere with the choice that Neville was building up to offer, he continued working on the wound while surreptitiously watching his godson, hoping that Merlin would give the boy the sense to recognize his out when he saw it. He did pause, momentarily, however, to gently and surreptitiously squeeze the boy's other leg above his calf, attempting to express his gratitude.

Neville had been under no obligation to extend his protection nor to do so in a manner that would allow Draco to maintain his dignity.

Neville's eyes flashed with an expression that Severus didn't quite recognize, but there was a warmth in the teen's tone that he couldn't miss, when he Neville commented, "You really are quite good at that," as if critiquing his healing skills.

"Thank you,… Neville." Severus managed, awkwardly, and almost fell back on his seat when he felt a surge of familiar power sweep back into him.

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Ron smiled broadly as an unusual clang rang out from down the hall, echoing throughout the school. At Hermione's blank confusion, he explained, "the testing's over. Neville held his own."

"How is that possible?" As much as they liked Neville, he truly wasn't a world class dueler, and both of them had been certain that the Headmaster's announcement would have reached the Slytherins with Death Eater Sympathies with enough time for them to inform their parents and be sent to take down Snape.

"I have no idea, but at least it's over."

"No, Mr. Weasley, it is not. You misunderstand the nature of Voldemorte's followers if you believe that they will stand on the legalities of the testing." Dumbledore denied sadly.

Before either Ron or Hermione could answer him, the soft padding of skipping feet, pit-patted up the hall toward them, and they turned to see Luna Lovegood, dressed in a pale cream night gown with handkerchief hemlines, skipping barefoot down the hall toward them. Her arms were full as she carried with her two large hand-tied bundles of wild-flowers and a third, aromatic, bundle of potion ingredients.

"Miss Lovegood, shouldn't you be headed back to your dorm?" The Headmaster questioned the oddly dressed and unaccountably cheerful girl. "It is quite near to curfew."

"Oh, Yes, of course, Headmaster. Could Hermione and Ron come back with me? Sometimes the halls get a little spooky at night when you're all alone."

"Yes, that would be a fine idea." The Headmaster agreed, clearly anticipating the possibility of getting rid of Hermione and Ron before he went after Harry.

"Mr. Bobbin, could we get get by, please?"

"Of course, Miss Luna, I is happy to be letting you pass."

Relieved to be rid of Young Miss Granger, who had disappointed him with her sudden willfulness and unproductive, if keen, insights, the Headmaster turned to pass the house elf assuming that –as the creature had allowed the children through— he would certainly be allowed to pass.

The assumption, however, as assumptions are prone to do, proved false. Three long minutes of attempting to stare down the impudent elf passed before the Headmaster realized that the Ravenclaw Dorm Rooms were in the other direction.

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Draco tensed as the clang sounded. Although he'd never been to a testing, he understood what the sound meant, but had no choice in what he'd been sent to do. Longbottom's comment about coercion aside, as long as his mother was in the Dark Lord's custody he had not option. First though, Longbottom had offered him some information that he might be able to trade for his mother's life, and before anything else, he had to get that.

"Don't worry, Draco, the signal does not apply to you in any legal sense. We had negotiated before his acceptance, our duel is still legally permissable."

Taken aback by the foolhardy Gryffindor generosity, Draco nodded and prompted, "The prophecy."

"Here." Longbottom reached up, pulled a chain off his neck, and resized the globe that had hung on it like a small charm. "Hear it for yourself."

Tapping the globe with his wand, Longbottom started the recorded memory. Ignoring both of the Slytherin's surprised glances as they realized what his ability to touch the globe implied.

As Sybill Trelawny's quavering voice carried from the small projected form, Neville looked up at at gasp that had sounded from the doorway.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.…

born to those who have thrice defied him,

born as the seventh month dies…"

Both Severus and Draco were so focused on the prophecy that they were blind to Harry's entrance and they way that he wandered almost aimlessly around the decimated room, glancing in confusion between the fallen opponents and Neville.

"and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,

but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.…"

When it was clear that Harry wasn't ready to speak to him yet, Neville curiously turned his gaze back to watch the two Slytherins as they listened to the next stanza.

"and either must die at the hand of the other,

for neither can live while the other survives.…

the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

After Trelawny faded away, the Slytherins stared at each other in silence, but from the expressions on their faces, when Harry broke the silence - he was saying what they were thinking.

"I'm not the chosen one, am I?"


	15. A Duel, A Deal, A Deception, A Debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The info and title for this update was taken from a lovely and alliterative review for chapter 14, by Quynce. I think as a summary that it also fits this chapter, and hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you again. Quynce.

"A duel, a deal, a deception, a debate...the promise of a prophesy unraveled,  
the chance that Dumbledore will be undone. "

_Quynce_

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After Trelawny's voice faded away, the Slytherins stared at each other in silence, but from the expressions on their faces, when Harry broke the silence - he was saying what they were thinking.

"I'm not the chosen one, am I?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know everything until this summer." Neville answered softly, with an apologetic gaze.

"No!" Draco protested. "You can't be. Everyone knows that Potter..."

Draco fell silent when Severus gripped his arm tightly, but Neville had already prepared himself to answer this kind of question. He had expected it to come from Harry, but knew that Harry would listen no matter who the question was addressed to and that both he and Draco needed to work the truth out for themselves or they wouldn't trust him.

"Draco, Harry might not know this, but you should. Does magical lineage and inheritance law follow a patrilineal or matrilineal succession?"

"Matrilineal, of course. Why?"

"So a wizard wouldn't be considered to be a pure-blood, unless his mother was pure-blood? And why was that?"

"Because wizards have always had their dalliances with muggles – to blow off steam." Draco answered impatiently as if it should have been obvious to everyone. 

"Over half of the Greek myths talk about it, but it would have been chaos if they had to split heir estates up between all of their by-blows. Witches, on the other hand, usually couldn't marry someone without their family's permission, and any witch having a bastard child would have been banished from the family. Their children couldn't inherit, so estates wouldn't be split up with half-bloods, who somewhere down the line might break up the estates further and let them slip away into the muggle world."

"So, even if the child was a half-blood, if the parent and child weren't disinherited and banished from the family, that child would still be considered a pure blood?"

"Yeah, it could happen." Draco agreed distastefully.

"Harry, you spoke with Voldemort in both your second and fourth years. Which of his parents was the muggle?"

"His father," Harry answered with a shudder.

"When you spoke to him, did he deny his father's heritage in any way?"

"Yeah, he showed me how he made up Lord Voldemort came from an anagram that he made from his birth name, to get rid of his father's name."

"So he chose to see himself as a pure blood? And that corresponds with your experience of him as well, Professor Snape? "

After Severus nodded in agreement, Neville prompted, "In your opinion, do you think that he would have identified the legally half-blood child of a muggle witch as his equal?"

"No, not if there were any other option available."

"But the scar." Draco protested. "The prophecy mentions his scar."

"No, Draco, it doesn't. That is it's common interpretation, but it's actual wording is: 'The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.' ." Neville began, when he was interrupted by Severus, who asked dryly, "Swing hard your staff, Shepherd, mark true your throw?"

"Exactly." He agreed, pleased that Severus had grasped the point immediately when the professor had probably had the longest familiarity with the prophecy and the most ingrained assumptions to overcome.

Seeing both Harry and Draco's still-confused expressions, he explained, "Mark', as a word, has many meanings, including target and envision. My Gran has taken it to several reliable interpreters, including the oracle at Delphi, and they've agreed that Voldemort seeing me, a pure-blood borne child, as his equal was an equally valid interpretation."

"Why did he come after my parents, then?" Harry questioned softly, the pain in his eyes was brightened with the glaze of tears on his lashes, but otherwise his gaze dimmed and troubled.

"I'm sorry, Harry. We were there; Gran and I had been living with your mum and dad. Your mum was my Gran's secret keeper. Not even Dumbledore knew. My dad... had his own reasons not to trust him, and thought it would be better, since you and your parents were living under a fidelus charm already, that keeping me and Gran with you would just mean more protection for the both of us. Gran's actually a wicked duelist, even at her age and won a number of medals back in the war against Grindewald."

"Gran's shown me the memories; we were there, but he didn't see us because your mum didn't give up our secret, not even when he tried to curse you. Your scar, it is a curse scar, but not from the killing curse. He was trying to threaten your mum and killing you immediately would have lost him his leverage."

"A killing curse didn't reflect back on him and kill him, Harry; Gran did. We were in the nursery. Lily and she had put extra wards up to protect us, but he broke through them. He still didn't see us though, so Gran hid me, with a silencing charm, in case Lily broke, and then ran back up to the nursery and killed him. I'm sorry she was too late to save your mum, but she didn't know for certain that she'd survive a fight with him, and he already knew where you were and could see you. If she tried to hide you too, she would have given herself away. I'm so, so sorry."

Neville's throat tightened as he waited for Harry to realize that his mother had died because Neville's Gran had put him first and had left Lily undefended. That had been one of the hardest things for him to come to terms with over the summer. That and Dumbledore's betrayal, but he pushed the wizard's crimes aside. He couldn't let himself get distracted yet, not until Severus, Draco, and Harry had the full picture. Harry was staring at him silently; though, whether from shock, hatred, anger or disgust, Neville had no idea.

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Once they were away from the Headmaster and heading down to the room of requirement, Hermione paused to take in Luna's odd attire. Even though Luna was skipping in place to do so, she paused to return the favor then shook her head with a frown.

"You're not dressed right at all, to be bringing flowers. You either, Ron. Here..."

Pushing the flowers off into Ron's arms, Luna pulled her wand from where she'd tucked it into her hair as like a long oriental style hair pick, turned on Hermione, and transfigured Hermione's robes into a suede copy of her own blouse and skirt, but with long strips cut into the suede to give the impression of fringe that started high enough to be rather revealing, but were thick enough to remain mostly modest.

Hermione for, for her part, glanced back and forth between Luna and Ron, who was now smirking at her with a look that wasn't entirely humorous. Her cheeks warmed as she noticed his eyes dipping to the highest edge of the cut fringe, giving her an urge to pull the edge of the skirt down lower, though doing so would expose a strip across her abdomen that her blouse was just barely covering. But the look in his eyes was just too appreciative, and her embarrassment would have been just to obvious so she stilled and tried to banish the warm blush from her cheeks.

Finally regaining her composure, Hermione drew her wand to reverse Luna's transfiguration, but stopped when Ron caught her arm and shook his head. "Its tradition," he explained, before smiling softly and murmuring, "and anyway, it's a good look for you."

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"There's more though; other ways that the Dark Lord and I can be equal, that you well … Well, I'm sorry, Harry, you just can't."

Even Severus seemed surprised by this, so Neville continued his explanation, asking gently, "Harry, you're the most honest person that I know. Do you think that you could have lied to everyone you knew, in action, word, and omission about your true nature and abilities for your entire school tenure? Like Voldemort did? Like I have?"

Harry stared at him with shock before shaking his head slowly, but Neville could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

"Gran bound my magic before I even came to Hogwarts so no one would be able to get a true reading of my real abilities. I knew I was stronger than everyone believed me to be, that I could do more, but I had to keep it hidden from everyone. That's why Professor Snape was my boggart third year - because Gran told me from the first he was a spy for the order and that I would have to be extra careful around him. Plus, his was the only course that relied on inherent magic instead of active magic. It didn't matter that my active magic was bound; potions can work without a spell ever actively being cast, so I had to intentionally ruin as many cauldrons as I could to keep up the appearance of being nearly a squib. Even in the DA, last year, after Gran unbound my magic on Christmas Break, I had to hold back so no one would figure it out. I promise, though, at the Ministry, I didn't hold back, not one bit. I swear it."

"O-ok-ay." Harry agreed, chokingly, but said little else.

"You've got a lot of power, Harry. Both from your dad and from your mum. Gran says your mom may have been the most powerful witch she's seen in her lifetime, and you would be at least as strong as her because you'd be bound to inherit all of her magic because of the way she died. but that wouldn't be enough to make you his equal. By taking slaves, even if he doesn't fulfill his oath to them, he has access to their magic in a duel, multiplying his own great power by every witch and wizard he enslaves. Do you honestly think that you, even if you had known how to take a slave, could have ever taken one?"

"No." Harry's voice was a painful croak, but Neville couldn't let the subject drop until he finished it.

"Finally, do you honestly believe that you are capable of killing someone? Intentionally and with forethought? You've been given ample cause, both by Voldemort and your uncle, but you're not capable of it, not even to save yourself, or you wouldn't have used expelliarmus in the duel at the graveyard ."

Harry was pale and shaking as he stared at Neville; his lips trembled and Neville waited patiently for him to say something, but Draco interrupted.

"And you're so sure you can?" The blonde's tone was almost challenging, but there was an underlying question to it that Draco needed to understand.

"I already have. Three times, and I am planning two more."

"Three?" Severus's voice shook with astonishment even as Draco paled and backed away.

"Two - at the ministry: Evan Rosier's cousin McCabe was starting to cast the killing curse at Harry, regardless of … their team leader's orders to the contrary. He was pretty heavily warded, but I cast a reducto at the back of his skull, and it got through. The other, I don't know his name, but he was going to do the same to Moody, and moody didn't hear me when I tried to warn him. I used a levicorpus to throw him against a wall and overpowered it. "

Hearing this, Harry had paled even further, and Neville wasn't certain that his friend would be able to keep to his feet much longer.

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After studying Hermione and nodding with apparent approval, Luna turned on Ron, repeating the process. Within seconds, Hermione gaped on, totally dumbfounded, as Luna had outfitted Ron in a tailored leather tunic and rather form fitting pants, which highlighted the definition in his thighs and torso that came from riding a broom and practicing quidditch in every spare moment. Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but approve of his attire and found herself strangely fixated on his almost bare, sandaled feet. The freckles that covered the top of his feet looked oddly right between the two weathered straps that crossed just above the base of his toes, and the top of his arch.

Well, to be honest, Ron looked oddly right in the leather tunic and pants. She had always thought clothing made from animal skins was rather barbaric, but on Ron, whether it was his coloring, or the fit, or the way the leather looked almost soft enough to touch. He looked... well, almost like he belonged in the primitive clothing.

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"The other?" Severus prompted.

"This summer," Neville answered, controlling his tone. This was a harder admission and the act itself had nearly gutted him. After a second, Severus closed his eyes nodding, and Neville felt the potion master's hand offer another supportive squeeze at the lower back of his calf, where neither Harry nor Draco could see it. He'd heard apparently, but Draco and Harry probably wouldn't have.

"This summer, I gave... I gave my father mercy. I couldn't do it before because it had to be done by the head of house, and I wasn't vested until this year, but he's suffered enough."

His last answer had apparently been enough to convince Draco because the blonde had suddenly paled as his legs went out from under him.

"Even if we'd dueled..." he moaned, " Either must die... I would have lost, and Mother... he... Merlin...Mother..."

Draco broke into hysterical sobs, shocking them all, and Neville went to his knees beside the Slytherin, trying to calm him. Harry stepped forward to help as well, but Severus raised a cautioning hand and warned, "It's important that you let him."

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"That's better. Here," Luna chirped, retrieving one of the flower bundles and the bundle of potion ingredients. After tucking her wand back into her hair, she continued, pretending to be oblivious to Hermione's distraction, "Ron, you take Harry's. Hermione, would you like Draco's or Professor Snape's?"

Seeming unable to imagine giving Draco a bundle of flowers, under any circumstances, Hermione stuttered, "Professor Snape," and accepted the bundle of chamomile, lavendar, thyme and rosemary that Luna had bundled with a green velvet ribbon for the Professor. Luna kept the bundle of potion ingredients – complete with hissing beetles sticked-charmed to a cinnamon stirring rod for Draco and was almost sure that inquisitive Gryffindor was just about to ask her whether she hadn't made a mistake because surely the the potion master would have preferred the ingredients of his trade when her words seemed sink in for both Hermione and Ron at once.

"Draco?" Staring at each other in horror for barely a tenth of a breath, Ron and Hermione turned as one and ran down the hall, thankfully, still gripping the bundles of flowers in their hands, or Luna would have been quite peeved with them. Instead, she giggled at their antics and skipped along behind them.

Things were never boring with Gryffindors around.

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Watching Potter carefully as the teen watched Neville slip behind Draco's back, wrap his arms around his former rival's shoulders, and pull his godson into a comforting hold, with the blonde's back pressed against his chest and his head flung back on Neville's shoulder as they rocked, Severus carefully asked, "Mr. Potter... Harry... may I inquire whether you are well?"

Potter was slow to turn his head, and nod, but it was a response.

"Are you all right?" Severus asked again, hoping to get a more useful response.

"It was all for nothing. It all meant nothing." Potter's tone and gaze seemed increasingly lifeless as he spoke, troubling Severus – to the extreme.

"What was for nothing? What meant nothing?"

"All those people who died. Everyone he tortured. Everyone he... ... just to get to me, and I – I kept holding on because I thought that I was the chosen one. That I'd be able to make their deaths ... their pain mean something. I knew I was going to die because I knew that Dumbledore was wrong and I didn't have whatever power he thinks I have, and even if I had, I've never been trained how to use it. He's never hired someone to teach me how to fight back. I finally figured out that it was because I wasn't supposed to fight back. I was supposed to die, but if I could take him with me... That's the only reason ... the only reason I didn't ... even though I knew that night after night he was killing people, just to get to me. I swear, if I'd known that I didn't matter, that I wasn't really the Boy-who-lived, I wouldn't have let it go on past the first night. I swear it."

As the pathetic child swore, his gaze caught and held Severus's with a depth of misery that frightened the older wizard to the core. Without question, he knew how Harry would have put an end to Voldemort's games: by putting his chosen target out of reach, the only way the boy likely believed possible. While Neville's confession had been necessary, Severus saw that it had virtually cut Potter off from the only thread that had been tying Potter to life: a purpose that went beyond his own suffering and even beyond the guilt he was suffering for the horrors that Voldemort was inflicting in his name. Severus had to act quickly, or Neville would likely lose chosen one even as he tried to save another.

"Harry. Think. Think, think about what Neville just told you. You can still do what you held on to do. You can still make their deaths mean something. You don't need to be trained for what you can contribute to the fight. You have it in abundance."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?" Potter almost wailed in response, although he somehow managed to keep his voice low as he did.

"Do you trust Neville?" Severus asked, hoping that he wasn't pushing the Potter too quickly. Neville had acted so carefully and subtly with both Draco and himself, but Severus truly didn't believe that they had the time to spare before Potter's guilt caused him to do something rash... and fatal, in the name of protecting others.

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"Shhh. It's alright. It's alright. Draco... shhhh. It will be alright. Here try this. It's a candied lavender, it has a few charms on it that will help you to calm down. Good." Neville coaxed as he continued to rock the blonde teen. It was so close, Draco was so close, but it still had to be Draco's choice and need, or Neville couldn't interfere.

"No. He's poisoned her. My mother. He gave her a poison that she has to take the antidote for every day or she'll die. I was supposed to kill... I didn't want to, but I had to, or she'd die. He said he wouldn't give her the antidote if I didn't ..." Surprising Neville with a sudden rush of hyperactive strength, Draco jerked in Neville's hold, spinning half-way sideways, and pulled on his sleeve so hard that the fragile silk sleeve tore around his arm to display a livid dark mark that practically shined with a malice and dark magic as if thriving off of its host's emotional suffering.

"I'm his slave, too. I didn't want to be, but my he said my father had promised me to him in lieu of punishment ... if my father ever failed him. When he ... he lost the globe... even though he went to azkaban, my father's failure condemned my mother and myself to servitude. After she was marked, he made her drink it goblets of it. It made her so sick. I didn't think she'd survive it, but when she did, he told us that ... that it was magically bound to her now. She'd never escape it, but if I served him... if I never failed him, he'd let her live. Oh Merlin, I've failed. I've failed him," Draco sobbed, rocking Neville forcefully in his grief.

Entangled in Draco's breakdown, neither heard the conversation going on between Severus and Harry, nor Harry's wail, nor the soft gasps at the door as the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio arrived to the oddest of scenes.

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The sight that met Hermione's eyes when she and Ron finally reached the room of requirement was one that might have made her question her sanity under any other circumstance. She was thoroughly certain that she wasn't dreaming, but was glad when she saw Ron pinch himself out of the corner of her eye. Dobby was moving through the room levitating bodies of close to fifteen students who had apparently come to test Neville's taking or eliminate professor Snape, and was stacking them to the side as if they were kindling, regardless of the propriety of stacking people one on top of another on top of another.

Beyond the little elf, Professor Snape, who was dressed in the oddest outfit she'd ever seen, was on his knees looking up at Harry with undisguised concern, and just a few feet away, Neville was wrapped around Draco like a father comforting a heart-broken child who'd lost his first pet. Although the little elf let them walk a few steps in, he didn't let them go further in, but they didn't protest. It was clear to each of them that whatever was going on between the four had to be resolved between them, and while the couldn't say how they knew it, when they glanced at each other, it was clear in the other's gaze that they both knew it to be true.

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"Think, Draco. He's tricked you." Neville urged, lowering his voice as Draco stilled in his arms. "Your father was marked, too. He was a slave. Magic and inheritance rights are matrilineal. So long as your mother was free, so were you. A slave can not promise away the freedom of a free person not even their own child's. You said you didn't want to be a slave, that he threatened your mother, poisoned her, and held the threat over your head. Did he order you to kill Professor Snape?"

When Draco hesitantly nodded, Neville unintentionally tightened his grip on the blonde's shoulder as his rage at the manipulative, torturing, bastard growing. When the time finally came, there was going to be a very good chance that he might actually enjoy executing Voldemort for his crimes. "He lied. Your taking was coerced, and his threat a lie in itself. His magic could not power the making of the antidote. Dark magic can never be used to power healing potions. If you had killed the professor, you would have killed the source of your mother's cure."

As he listened, Draco's breathing sped up until he was almost hyperventilating, and his fingers clutched Neville's arms tightly. "It's true? You're telling me the truth?"

"I swore to." Neville answered with force, almost feeling the decision that was coming as a growing ache in his chest that would not ease until it was fulfilled.

"You said a Master who proved worthy of a slave's trust could break it. Can you break it? "

Finally releasing the breath he'd been holding, Neville nodded, "Yes, if you want me to Draco, if you trust me to, I can break it."

"Yes. Please. I'll do anything you ask, give you anything you want, if you can break it."

"Your trust is all that I will ask of you, but you realize that you will still be a slave? That I can't change."

"I know, but you've protected Severus, shown him respect, told me the truth, haven't tried to rub my face in my mistakes, and kept me from a worse one. You're better, even if you're a Gryffindor."

"Very well, then" Neville answered softly, and turned to find both Harry and Severus watching him with expectant expressions. His eyes narrowed with suspicion trying to figure out what had changed since he had knelt with Draco, until he realized that he saw that Harry's wrists were crossed in Severus's grip and his friend was kneeling as well.

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"Yes. I do." Harry's voice quaked softly as he answered, and he cursed himself for his weakness, but it was just to much. Everything he'd believed had been ripped out from under him again, and this time he didn't know how to find his way back to solid ground.

"Then trust what he told you. Harry, he may believe that he has lied the entirety of his school tenure, but not about his true nature. He his hidden power, yes, but not to hurt or to trick others to his gain, but to be able to do what is necessary when it is time. " Snape's words came as shock to Harry. He almost didn't know what to make of it. Of anyone, Snape's opinion of Neville had always been the lowest. Harry would have thought that especially know, Snape would have hated Neville for forcing him ...

"I – I don't know what to do ..." Actually, that wasn't the truth, Harry did know, or at least he thought he knew why he'd come down here.

It would have been harder to admit if it were to anyone else, even Ron or Hermione, but the thought of all of those people who had died just because Voldemort had wanted to tortured him, and the knowledge that he could have stopped it so much earlier if he had just done what he'd been craving to do since Sirius's death... just sickened him and only the time he'd spent in Neville's care had helped. He knew, now, that there was nothing he could do to get revenge for them, but Neville...

"You cannot kill, but you can give him the power to do so. " Severus continued, almost clairvoyantly, "You cannot take slaves, but you can be one. He will not abandon you or use you as a pawn to meet his own ends. Trust him to protect you. You know his true nature."

"How... how do I?" Harry asked uneasily, finally noticing Hermione and Ron's presence by the door.

When Snape answered though, Harry did as he was told, despite his friend's shocked expressions. "Kneel Harry, cross your wrists, and wait. You won't be going through it alone."

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As Neville lifted his gaze from Harry's wrists held in his grip, Severus's cut away quickly, clearly recognizing that it had been a discussion that Neville would want to have with Harry, and anticipating his irritation. Harry's eyes though after meeting his and flitting sideways with embarrassment, shot quickly to the side before returning to the floor. Following his gaze, Neville saw Hermione and Ron shifting back and forth on bare feet, each carrying a bouquet of flowers to congratulate the new slaves. Neville might have fallen over in shock when he noticed their leather outfits, if he had not suddenly noticed a pair of pale bare feet skipping in place behind Ron and a glimpse of platinum blonde hair occasionally peeking out from behind red hair.

"You are my witnesses," he ordered, deciding for both Draco and Harry's sakes that it was better over quickly. The Headmaster could be put off for only so long.


	16. Oaths Once Given

"Draco Lucus Malfoy," Neville began in a soft carrying note, as he reached down to catch Draco's free hand and cross one wrist over the other.

"You have demonstrated yourself to be a slave by swearing your allegiance and allowing yourself to be marked."

When Draco's eyes dropped in shame, staring uneasily at Neville's grip on his wrist, Neville gentled his voice, as he continued, "You took an oath under duress and based on the unconscionable deception of a master, whom you did not choose. Unproven through vow or care, by such coercion, he has demonstrated himself unworthy of your trust, unworthy of your fealty, unworthy of your servitude."

"By the rights of Slaves and Slave holders, as set down by the five hundredth and seventy second convocation of the Grand Council of Wizards, any master capable of gaining a slave's trust, may claim that slave, whom has been unwillingly coerced into an unbreakable oath of slavery by a knowledgeable Master. "

Pausing when he felt Draco shuddering in response to his claim, Neville paused to push Draco's unkempt bangs back out of his eyes and tilt his chin up until their eyes met. Holding Draco's gaze,he continued,

"I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, hereby claim you Draco Lucius Malfoy as my slave, on the basis of seven demonstrations of faith and care.

I claim you on the basis that your trust was established when you were passive as I tended you in your distress... when you knowingly accepted adulterated substances from my hand... when you accepted my offer of information over your assigned task when there was ample evidence that doing so would place you in jeopardy... when you declared your unwillingness to be his servant and your dissatisfaction with his treatment of you. Further it was demonstrated as you placed your fate in my hands, and when you confessed your need for my protection. Draco Lucius Malfoy, do you concede to my right of claim?"

"Yes," Draco rasped, his voice barely audible, "Yes, you have my trust, my servitude, my pledge."

"Receiving you oath and your acceptance, I offer in return my oath to bind us and my blood."

Draco's eyes widened at his words, banking unshed tears behind his lashes and blinking repeatedly, not seeming certain how to cope with Neville's reciprocity.

"I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, having informed Draco Lucius, a slave of my choosing, of my right to claim him- hereby seal this claim with my unbreakable oath. For the full extent of my life, I hereby, knowingly, swear to hold myself and be held responsible for the care, safety, health, and circumstance of Draco Lucius Malfoy. I swear upon my life and magic to defend and guard him with all of the magic, wealth, and power at my disposal, to aid in his growth and development as a wizard, to acknowledge his needs and accomplishments, to shelter him and those he holds dear to the best of my ability. In exerting my dominion over my chosen slave, as the Head of the House of Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, I hereby with this oath, claim and mark Draco Lucius, and welcome him and any children he may produce as a members of Longbottom family. So saying, I take this oath, and bind it with my blood."

Extending his hand to Severus, Neville smiled down into the concerned but grateful gaze, knowing that his professor had heard and recognized the differences between the oaths he had given each of them. Lifting his palm expectantly, he nodded encouragingly as Severus slowly lifted the blade, stiff and uncertain. When Neville didn't withdraw his hand, Severus blinked but drew the blade across the palm of his hand, dragging the blade with barely enough force to part the skin if it had not been razor sharp.

Warmed and sped by his recent dueling, a thin rapid stream of blood welled in Neville's palm. Cupping his palm, he gently lifted Draco's wrists in his other hand and drizzled the flowing blood over the still crossed wrists. Draco jerked and stiffened under the the sudden, burning shock of magic that surged through him, but stilled as the rivulets of blood glowed warmer and warmer seeming to weave their way up his arm in a strangely patterned lacing that erased the dark stain of Voldemort's false claim as it surged forward. When the hated dark mark was finally erased, the crimson tendrils flared a radiant amber glow, cooling as it faded into a white-gold cuff.

Emptied of magic, then of his consciousness, Draco slumped weakly in his arms. Almost simultaneously, a chime rang throughout the room.

Neville glanced to him then up to Severus in shock.

"Could he have..." Neville trailed off amazed that Draco could have accepted his status so quickly.

"Apparently so," Severus replied, his lips quirking in amusement. "Despite Draco's upbringing, he has always been given toward rash judgments and foolishly extending his hand."

Stung by his words, Neville nodded sharply, and turned his gaze to Harry, wincing at the hurt in his friend's eyes. He knew Harry well enough to intuit the cause, and mentally cursed Dumbledore for pushing the issue with Severus to the point with he had felt compelled to take his best chance or loose it and Severus.

"Harry?" he asked, holding his friend's gaze.

"I- yes, I ... " Harry trailed off, lifting his wrists, in mimicry of Draco. His eyes searched Neville's.

"Thank you," Neville accepted gently, and addressed their professor, over his shoulder, "Monsieur, I will see to this; please ask the room to replicate your armor for Draco, with any added precautions you might think of. I suspect the wolves aren't quite finished with us yet, and might not value Draco as highly as we."

"Neville..." Severus's response was voiced softer than he'd expected, and although he might have been imagining it, Neville thought that he detected a note of regret.

"Not now. Dress Draco and be prepared to move him behind me if we are interrupted." Neville ordered.

"My comment was..." Severus attempted a second time, but ended what Neville presumed would have been an apology when Neville slashed his hand to the side, in a silent order for him to cease.

"We will discuss it, later! Do as I've requested."

Stiffening in response, Severus pulled his godson up and half-carried the still unconscious teen behind a barrier that Neville had asked the room to construct earlier, using it as a ruse, for his first foolish challengers who had assumed that he'd hidden the potion's professor behind them.

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"Harry..."

Harry winced and blushed when Neville turned back to him, looking away in his embarrassment. He had never seen Neville acting so … forcefully, at least not toward anyone else, and to be honest, it made him a feel a little … well, almost jealous.

This was the Neville, or the side of Neville that had made itself known to Harry during the past months, the side of Neville that he'd been certain that no one else had ever been permitted to see; the side of Neville that had confidently stepped in and started taking care of Harry when he couldn't take care of himself. This was the person that Harry had raced through the castle to stand beside, only to be shown that it wasn't a side of Neville reserved only for him. This was simply Neville.

That Neville would treat even Professor Snape and Draco with kindness should have been a comfort; if they would be treated kindly, certainly, he would be, but instead, Harry was stricken with the admittedly selfish pang at the thought that he really wasn't all that special to Neville after all.

"Harry," Neville called his attention back in the careful tone he'd used when he first confronted Harry in the showers. "Harry, I'm sorry. I can't do this for you."

"What? But..." Harry lurched in shock. "Please, I can help. I know I... Please Neville, Please."

Neville had to let him. If he didn't... if he didn't then everything would have been for nothing... all the pain, everyone who'd been hurt because of him: to keep him alive, to protect him, even to torture him - everything they'd suffered because of him would be worthless... if Neville didn't let him.

"You have to let me. Please. Even just for the power." He plead, insistently. "Please give me a chance to help to make it right. You have to give me a chance to make it right."

"Harry!" Neville repeated sharply, pulling Harry back up until he was on his knees again and wiping his cheeks gently.

"Please, please...Please," he gasped despondently over and over, hoping that Neville would forgive whatever he'd done wrong.

Brought up sharply by the burn of an open hand, slapping his cheek, Harry sank back on his heels, staring at Neville in silent defeat, as he clutched his cheek.

"Listen to me! Severus and Draco were already slaves. I could claim them because they had already declared themselves slaves and pledged their fealty. Until you do the same, I can not take you as a slave. I want to, but you have to do that much first. I can't do it for you. I wouldn't work if I did. Do you understand me?" Neville's grip on his chin was tight, forcing Harry to meet his gaze.

Harry did, but it didn't help:

"I don't know how." He sighed hopelessly.

"You have to admit that you are a slave: by seven qualities of nature as you have demonstrated them - obedient, desiring to please, seeking approval, willing to place others needs before your own, needing support, unable to defend yourself, and seeking your purpose outside yourself in the good or welfare of others. Then, just as you saw Draco do, you have to offer your trust, servitude, and pledge of fealty. Harry, I know it won't be easy to do that, but if you can, I can claim you. If you can do that Harry, I can help you."

Catching his breath as Neville's explanation calmed him, Harry gulped several breaths, trying to force air into his constricting lungs as he looked around and realized that his audience had grown. Professor Snape had apparently enervated Draco who was standing shakily by his side, pulling on some kind of suit that glistened like leather, but watching Harry between pulls. Ron and Hermione and Luna had apparently broken away from the Headmaster to follow him, and Dobby had stopped whatever he'd been doing to watch Harry with wide solemn eyes and drooping ears.

It was bad when a house elf was embarrassed of you... And it was about to get worse.

He'd never wanted to tell anyone, but he'd told Neville. He'd never wanted to put himself before others, but he'd had over the summer - in order to be alive to do what he'd believed he would have to do. He'd never wanted anyone to know, but they'd know, now.

"Look at me, Harry. Just at me. Tell me what you need to. Tell me what you are..." Neville coaxed, gripping his chin and forcing his gaze back on his.

Under Neville's intent gaze, the world around him seemed to dissolve.

"Neville, I'm … I am... I. Am. A. Slave. I've been one for as long as I can remember: even in my aunt's and uncle's home. I did everything they said because they said to, not just to avoid punishment."

Neville held up a finger to acknowledge that he'd met one of the conditions.

"Obedience?" Harry asked, but answered himself with a nod, before continuing, "I tried as hard as I could at home. I wanted to make them happy, but nothing I did ever seemed to, but I did try. I learned to cook and clean and do the yard work and paint the house and anything else they needed or wanted. Uncle Vernon was never happy with anything I did, so you'd think that he stop putting them on my chores list, but he never did. The list just kept getting longer and longer."

Two fingers rose in response to that, and Harry continued, finding it easier to let the words just pour out instead of trying to guide them. "I never complained, even when I wanted to. Sometimes the chores list my uncle gave me was as long as one of our essays for potions, and I knew I'd never get through it before he got home from work, but I didn't complain. Not even when I didn't get to eat. It could get a lot worse than that," he continued, the words pouring out with more force, "You saw that. Not getting dinner was about the best punishment I could get, what was it to complain over? I could sneak food sometimes, too: they never saved leftovers, and when he was at work and Aunt Petunia went shopping, if I wasn't locked in and was careful to make sure the trash looked like it did when they left, i could dig a little out."

Realizing that he'd started rambling, Harry stopped waiting for Neville to count off the other criteria he'd met, but began to worry when Neville remained silent, "I... is that enough?"

He'd told Neville this before. Neville knew this. He couldn't be shocked by it, now, could he?

"Nearly," Professor Snape answered for Neville, in a slightly-choked voice. "You have clearly met six of the seven qualities. The last you have already said to me; however, it is necessary for you to repeat before you can finalize your admittance."

Harry cocked his head to see the professor, who was now standing behind Neville.

"I don't know which it is." He offered weakly, hoping that the Snape wouldn't make too much of a comment on his stupidity.

Thankfully, Neville seemed to have found his tongue, "What did you tell Severus, Harry?"

"That..." This was harder to say than everything else. "That if I'd known that I wasn't the boy-who-lived, the chosen one, I wouldn't have let Voldemort kill those people that he used to get to me. I … I mean, well I couldn't have stopped him from killing them, but … but, I would have taken away his reason to. I told him that I had just been er... hanging on to do what the prophecy said."

"Thank Merlin you didn't know, then." Neville snapped harshly, making Harry wince. He should have realized that Neville wouldn't like that.

"He said that I could help you though - that I could still be of use." Harry offered up weakly, hoping to appease his friend.

Neville sighed, nodding, but his voice was still tinged in anger when he answered, "Yes, but this is about more than that. He's right though. It's enough to show that you seek your purpose outside yourself."

"So I can do the rest?" Harry asked, ignoring the muffled sounds of what was probably Ron cursing and either Hermione or Luna's gasping breaths that he tried to pretend weren't sobs.

"Yes. Do you remember how Draco gave his pledge?" Neville prompted.

"I think so. Can I do it over, if I mess up?"

"Yes. i would think so."

"Okay. I, Harry James Potter, swear to be your slave. If you will accept me as your slave, I give you my trust, my servitude, my loyalty, my fealty, and my magic. Everything that I have and am is yours."

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As Harry quickly spoke his oath, Neville's alarm grew with the three additions, and he threw his hand up to stop Harry, but it was too late.

Harry's magic flared, pouring out of him in a rush that literally seemed to jump to Neville's hands like a metaphysical leash. Weakened by the torrent, Harry literally collapsed, entirely unaware of the rush of voices crying out to and at him.

As he fell, across the back of his wrists, two intricate crimson longboats rose to the surface of his skin.


	17. Oaths Twice Given

Severus nodded in relief as Potter managed a passable acceptance of slavehood, and reached to retrieve the knife perched on the edge of the bowl, but Potter was still speaking: "and my magic. Everything that I have and am is yours."

Jerking his head around, Severus shouted, "no, you fool." But it was too late. A white flare of Potter's magic shot out of the boy in a rush that literally seemed to jump to Neville's hands connecting him to ... their master as if Potter were a dog on a leash. Time seemed to slow one hundred fold as Potter's legs folded beneath him, and the idiot collapsed, entirely unaware of the rush of voices crying out to and at him.

The magic flowing from his wrists as if from cut veins circled the boy's emaciated joints wrapping them in glowing cuffs even as, across the back of his wrists, two intricate crimson longboats rose to the surface of his skin.

"Stay your oath," Severus ordered sharply, hoping to prevent Longbottom further ing the potential tragedy. Merlin curse the rashness of Gryffindors.

"Yes, I know." Longbottom answered, watching Potter with a frown.

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"What's wrong?" Hermione asked Ron in confusion. "He did what they asked?"

"No, no he didn't," Luna answered lightly. "Neville didn't ask him to give over his heart, mind, will, or soul, or all the little bits between."

"Of course he did," Hermione protested, "he's making Harry a slave."

"No, Mione, she's right. There's a difference. It's like I told you: wizarding slavery's different. He'd still have the right to decide things for himself and live as he likes- as long as he serves when he's called on and doesn't say or do something that he thinks of as disloyal. But Harry's almost a muggleborn when it comes down to it, so he didn't know and promised a lot more than that.'

'His magic's bad enough- if Neville accepts the oath as Harry's given it, Harry will become a squib. That's not the worst of it, either. It's like she said: his oath will act like a super strong love potion. He'll be forced to love Neville more than anyone else; he'll only be able to do what he believes will make Neville happy; and with his soul magically bonded to Neville, even if he meets his soul mate, he won't be able to escape it because it's his oath, isn't it? Not something someone else forced on him."

"Oh, Harry."

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"Quite so, Miss Granger. Quite so. Young Harry's pledges, while nobly intended, were rash and foolish, but the young are ever so." Headmaster Dumbledore murmured. His tone carrying its normal note of ancient wisdom sounded suddenly false to Hermione's ears as she whirled to face him.

"You did this!" She shrieked, "All of this is because of you."

"No, My Dear Girl, it is our choices that define us. Everyone who stands before you has made a choice to be here. I have merely encouraged these choices to coincide in the same location... at a time and place where certain other influences might not interfere." The rebuttal was delivered with such a note of humility and kindness that Hermione could only gape at him in shock.

"You knew this would happen!" Ron answered for her, "You knew, you just let it happen. You could have stopped it."

"I had suspicions, certainly." Dumbledore admitted with a soft smile of seeming approval.

"You could have stopped it."

"Perhaps... " the headmaster answered, spreading his hands outward in a gesture that seemed to speak more of his helplessness to prevent the unfolding events than it did of his complicity in them. "Young Ronald, despite your regrettable attitude toward your studies, you have demonstrated previously that you, in fact, have quite a fine mind for strategy... even at the age of eleven rivaling the strategies of a witch who has acted as my lieutenant through three wars. Can you not apply your talents and discern a reason for my detachment?"

Ron sneered at his flattery but remained silent for several moments before his expression shifted into an ugly scowl.

"It was a test," he answered.

"For whom, My Dear Boy?" The headmaster questioned with a growing smile.

Ron turned at the concession, studying the three who had remained disengaged from the conversation as they discussed the details needed from Neville's oath.

"For all of them, I think... but Neville the most."

The headmaster nodded and reached out a hand as if to scruff Ron's hair, but the boy quickly pulled away with a look of revulsion. The hand slowly returned to the headmaster's side as an expression of sadness dimmed the smile.

"You're playing with people's lives." Ron snarled, catching Hermione by the elbow and pulling her away as if her mere proximity to the old man was a danger in itself.

"You must understand, My Boy, it was necessary to know this. Yes, as you say, I did have suspicions that Mr. Longbottom was, in fact, the chosen one; however, Young Harry has been sorely tested over his very short lifetime and has survived trials that no ordinary witch or wizard could. Many, in fact, have perished in lesser circumstances, so you see I could not - in good conscience- overthrow him for Mr. Longbottom, without Young Neville being proven."

"Overthrow him?" Hermione asked in a strained note, "You say that as if he were an heir to the throne."

"In a manner of speaking, yes, he is," the headmaster answered, studying his gloved hand with a mild expression, before meeting her eyes, "Old men can not live forever, and when I vacate my current offices- those on the side of the light will need a new leader to look to; Fudge, Scrimgeour, Tanes, McGonnagall, Bones, Shacklebolt, Curtisson... there are none who hold the hearts and faith of the people as strongly as can a legend, whether it is the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One... one or the other must take my place."

Luna, who had been observing silently up to that point, finally interjected: "You're wrong, Headmaster. Sadly wrong. They will not take your place."

Her voice floated to them, ethereally soft, as she pronounced, "You are not the White King. The White King has been sleeping, shadowed but watching, building his strength. You.." she giggled, "You are the Black Queen. A strong black queen, hiding in the light, who has moved unfettered though the Black King was kept at bay. "

"What? Child, how can you say such a thing..." Dumbledore looked stricken.

"Why, did you not know? I am the White King's Rook. Can you not see to recognize his court even as you have put the pieces in place to bind them?"

Looking at the children around him, Dumbledore seemed to consider her words, before contradicting, "There are but seven, if as you suggest, I am not the White King, where is your eighth?"

Smiling vaguely, Luna twirled fancifully twice before facing Dobby. "Dobby, My kindest elf, would you mind popping out for a moment to my father's offices? He has been … interviewing a lady of some note - at my request - would you bring her here? Her son would like to see her."

"Yes, Masters Luna Ma'am, I's would be most happiest to. I is not liking what Master Dumbledores has been saying and is most happiest to leave, most happiest indeed." Dobby answered, scowling at Dumbledore even as he faded into nothingness with a snap of his fingers.

"Child..." Dumbledore's tone was hesitently cautionary as he studied her, before he could continue, Dobby returned- his fingers gently grasping the wrist of a pallid and clearly-ill - Narcissa Malfoy.

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"Mother!" Draco cried, running over to her, even as Severus called him back, raising his wand until Neville laid a hand on his wrist and lowered it.

"Welcome Lady Rook," Luna greeted the clearly befuddled woman even as she was engulfed in a fierce hug by her son, who was babbling at her too fast for her to make sense. Turning back to Dumbledore, Luna smiled beatifically to the Headmaster, announcing, "The White King's court is complete."

With that, she dismissed him from her notice and joined Draco in guiding his mother to a seat.

"It can not be..." The headmaster murmured in disbelief, "This is … not as I planned it. No... No... she's mistaken... She is most mistaken... " he murmured to himself as he glanced around the room - trying to bolster his clearly wavering certainty.

With he arrival of Narcissa having interrupted the intense discussion between Severus, Draco, and himself, Neville finally turned to the headmaster, answering ruthlessly, "The light can not stay light by sacrificing its pawns. Anyone who uses such tactics becomes dark, whether he or she recognize it or not."

"My Dear Boy, sacrifices must be made. A war can not be won without them... on either side. It is an old punishment visited by magic on those who allow war to come to fruition." The headmaster's answered - solemn resignation coloring his tone.

"Yes. Natural sacrifices, unchosen sacrifices, unplanned and unmanipulated sacrifices..." Neville answered harshly, "Those we can accept, and make for ourselves, but the Light can never … must never... mimic the dark. Else we lose our way... "

When the Headmaster appeared about to respond to Neville's rebuke, Neville continued sharply, "as you have."

Headmaster Dumbledore straightened; though, somehow his appearance seemed at once more fragile and elderly than moments before. His eyes, which normally seemed to glow and sparkle with knowledge and tolerant humor, dimmed as he turned them on each. Finally, his eyes settled on the still unconscious form of Harry, and he nodded in acceptance of Neville's condemnation.

"Now leave. We have the right to privacy for a few moments more, at least."

There appeared to be nothing more the Headmaster felt he could say, for he nodded again, turning with less grace than he normally seemed to possess. As his hand reached toward the door, with his good hand, Hermione thought she saw a tremble slightly.

Just before he opened the door, Neville called out to him, one last time, "Oh, and Headmaster, any wolf, who wishes to challenge, will find us in the Great Hall, shortlDumbledore did not turn to acknowledge the statement, but a softly whispered, "I understand," carried to them as the door closed - the two words seeming far more weighted down than their small number should carry.

ブレンキン

"Draco," Neville broke the silence that had fallen over the room of requirement, "Please explain what has been going on in her absence, and please extend to her the same offer that I made to you; the same terms will apply."

"Monsieur, prepare your knife, if you please. Dobby, will you stand behind Harry to support his back?"

"Yes, Master Longbottom. Thank you for takings good care of my Master Harry Potter's, Sir."

Neville smiled warmly down on the elf before he knelt and lifted Harrry's hands by the wrists.

"I, Neville Franklin Longbottom, hereby claim and accept the trust, loyalty, servitude and fealty as pledged by Harry James Potter in the confession of himself as a slave, on the basis of seven demonstrations of faith and care, which established his trust as he remained passive when I tended him in his distress... when he knowingly accepted adulterated substances from my hand... when he confided that his other protectors unnecessarily placed him in jeopardy... when he declared his dissatisfaction with his previous treatment. It was demonstrated when he placed his fate in my hands, offered me all that he is, and confessed his need for my protection."

Pausing to to stare down at his unconscious friend, with a small soft smile, he reached out to brush Harry's fringe out of his face before he continued, speaking directly to Harry: "Your mind, heart, and soul I accept into my care, dominion, and protection, until such a time as your soul mate is ready to accept these treasures. Your magic already resides within the most appropriate vessel, and there it shall stay - excepting the access that is needed to guide, protect, defend, and heal its cherished vessel."

Severus nodded his approval for his careful wording, and though Neville smiled in response, he also steeled himself to say the portion that he knew that Severus would very likely ... not approve of, at all: "Of your body, so that it should be the hale and fitting to contain the gift of your magic, I take unto myself your scars and afflictions."

As he'd expected, Severus hissed in displeasure and scowled fiercely at him, but Neville ignored the response and continued, "as for all of the bits between, they are well appointed to their current vessel and shall have no greater constraints placed on them than those placed on your heart, mind, magic, and soul. With these statements, only bearing, the greater weight of my oath, I hereby pledge to accept, protect, and cherish Harry James Potter as a slave of my choosing and seal this pledge with my unbreakable oath. For the full extent of my life, I hereby, knowingly, swear to hold myself and be held responsible for the care, safety, health, and circumstance of Harry James Potter. I swear upon my life and magic to defend and guard him with all of the magic, wealth, and power at my disposal, to aid in his growth and development as a wizard, to acknowledge his needs and accomplishments, to shelter him and those he holds dear to the best of my ability. In exerting my dominion over my chosen slave, as the Head of the House of Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, I hereby with this oath, claim and mark Harry James Potter, and welcome him and any children he may produce as a members of Longbottom family. So saying, I take this oath, and bind it with my blood."

Extending his hand to Severus, Neville paused for Severus gently drew the blade across his hand with barely enough force to part the skin if it had not been razor sharp. Cupping his palm, he gently lifted Harry's wrists in his other hand and drizzled the flowing blood over the still crossed wrists. Harry moaned softly as the rivulets of blood glowed warmer and warmer seeming to weave their way up his arm in a strangely patterned lace of crimson tendrils that circled the longboats and flared with a radiant amber glow before fading into an intricate white-gold cuff.


	18. The White Court come to Haugr Wards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ブレンキン
> 
> I am convinced, the way one plays chess always
> 
> reflects the player's personality.
> 
> If something defines his character,
> 
> then it will also define his way of playing.
> 
> Vladimir Kramnik
> 
> ブレンキン

The breaths of everyone, student and instructor alike, froze when the doors to the great hall swung open. Rumors about Longbottom's surprising duels had spread like wildfire; the impossibility of the reports only feeding the speculation.

Instead of the gloating but battered Gryffindor that they had expected to walk in, they were met with an unusual procession as stunning as the arrival of Durmstrung and Beauxbatan's champions had been two year before.

Lady Malfoy and Luna Lovegood walked in side by side, dressed in matching dragon hide dueling robes - tailored for witches, but instead of the high neckline customary to dueling robes, their necklines were cut discretely low to allow their audience to see the delicate lacing of gold that circled their throats.

Trailing them at a stately pace, and even more unexpected pairing, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, not only not at each other's throats, but walking in unison as though it was a well practiced habit. They were similarly garbed in dueling robes, but with three quarter sleeves, allowing lace-thin, golden vambraces to draw their audience's attention.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, similarly garbed, but wearing gold circlets across their brows followed Malfoy and Potter. By the time they were recognized, the silence that had fallen over the room could not be broken, even by the last pair to enter.

Professor Snape and Neville Longbottom walked in slowly, side by side, both wearing expensively-tailored dueling robes, stylized in a dragon-hide replica of the Potion Master's customary robes.

Aside from the gleaming skin that seemed to glow with an internal light instead of the the light reflected from the Great Hall's candles, between the cut of the professor's normal robes was the absence of the cravat - leaving both men's throats exposed to view. Around each man's neck lay a thick golden torque that caused gasps to run through the room as they passed close enough for their collars to be seen. Almost as stunning as their appearance, though, was the utter change in their manner and bearing.

Instead of stalking forward, always angrily, Professor Snape was walking slowly, confidently, imperturbably beside a student whom everyone had believed that he loathed as though they were touring a museum, leading many to believe that the Potion Master could not have just been enslaved; even though the confirmation had come from the Headmaster's own mouth with a multitude of witnesses. Even more surprising, however, was Neville Longbottom.

Written off by most, as a squib, Longbottom was almost unrecognizable without his ever-present air of worthlessness, slumped shoulders, slouching posture, shuffling walk, and his head dropped so low that you couldn't see his face for his hair. Walking confidently, beside the Professor who was known to be boggart-proven worst fear, Longbottom seemed almost possessed or imperioused into someone with a spine and … power … incredible power … practically pouring off him in waves.

Lady Malfoy and Luna Lovegood reached the gap between the student tables and the leading edge of the dais and parted, turning to present themselves to each end of the table. One by one, each of their party followed until they each stood parallel to a member at the head table, with Longbottom facing the Headmaster. The silence stretched out, thick and tension-filled, as they waited for the Headmaster to acknowledge Longbottom.

Instead, Longbottom's voice rang out, "Haugr Wards - The White Court has assembled."

"Have you forgotten Hogwart's motto, Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, Neville?" Headmaster Dumbledore interrupted, warningly his quiet voice carrying past them, to be whispered along as the silence broke in whispers and speculation.

"Have you truly considered the dangers of waking the ancient magic that sleeps within Hogwarts? Why do you seek battle on two fronts? If you wake the sleeping dragon, have you considered how you will return it to its slumber?"

To the assembly's shock, Longbottom simply ignored the headmaster, repeating, "Haugr Wards - The White Court has assembled."

His voice, commanding and clear, rose like a harp's note as he continued, his voice adopting a melodic-rythmic tone:

"We come to beseech your wisdom!"

"We come to seek your throne!"

"We come to ask your blessing!"

"Haugr Wards - We implore you - make yourself known!"

As he spoke - a ringing echo of his words seemed to vibrate through the room so intensely that no other sound seemed capable of sharing the space.

Without understanding why, the students and teachers and Headmaster found themselves compelled to stand barely a breath before their house tables, benches, and banners faded from existence, followed by the staff table and several chairs, leaving only the eight ornate chairs standing parallel to Longbottom's group.

The Great Hall's candle light dimmed.

The entrance doors closed of their own accord.

A soft surrescent thrumm of sound began to replace the echo of Longbottom's words.

Growing infinitesimally louder and louder, as it became recognizable, the sound of wings beating filled the room.

No one was certain who saw it first, but after a moment, a multitude of fingers were pointed as a shadow following the stairwell's descent into the room, growing larger and more visible as it neared them and circled the walls.

As it reached ground level, the shadow was clearly that of a dragon, circling the room, seeming to inspect it and its inhabitants.

Several breaths passed before it seemed content with its appraisal and shot skyward toward the Great Hall's skylights.

As it neared the top, frightened children through the hall flung their arms over their heads, expecting a rainfall of shattering glass as the shadow burst through the skylights with an explosion of light.

As they looked up in awe, a thousand-thousand shards of glass hovered in the air, floating together in the shape of a spiralling crystalline stare with an ornate handrail rising from the steps in the shape of splashing waves.

At the head of the spiral stare, where the skylights had once been, the dragon, no longer a shadow, glowed in an infinite mix of colors that twisted and intertwined with each other but never mixed or blended, giving precedence to any single color. The dragon circled the staircase three times, before the colors separated flying apart from each other, each in the form of its own single colored miniature dragon, swirling once around the stair case in playful aerobatics before re-converging at the head of the steps, maintaining their form, while simultaneously creating the impression of another form as if they flowed and crawled over the invisible form of a woman, becoming her hair, gown, cape and crown; bracelets, necklace, and sandals; lips, nose, ears, and eyes... constantly moving as she gazed down over them with a serene, if impish smile.

"And... what a handsome court you are." She offered, as she moved forward, stepping from the flowing crystal stair that dissolved behind her and reformed before her as she descended.

"Well balanced in temperament: cautious and wild, patient and eager, reserved and effusive, grounded and mercurial. Balanced in strength and intellect, aggression and compassion, faith and fear... What a beautiful court you are."

"Great Lady," Headmaster Dumbledore called out loudly, bowing before her, "We beg your patience and pardon for waking you. Please forgive these children for their impertinence."

"Impertinence?" She questioned with a siren-like trill of laughter that forced respondent smiles to the lips of everyone who heard it. "Impertinence? They have shown no impertinence. Albus Dumbledore. I have never slept. When my eyes close, galaxies blink from existence."

"How can that be?" Dumbledore stared at her, seeming pale and confused. "Have you been away then, or called to some other duty? Horrors have occured in your absence, My Lady. Unicorns and phoenix have been killed, foul magics have been used to resurrect... abominations, a dark wiza-"

"Cease!" She huffed, glaring. "You forget yourself, boy. Worse, yet, you forget me. I have not been absent. I have walked the streets of London, keeping death's anonymity, for his fine cloak, as you know, was woven from my hair. I have been present at the birth of every magical child to bestow my gift, and at every end to receive it back. I have cried with young Fawkes here, mourning the death of a great serpent queen, whose passing you rejoiced. I sang with her to unburden the suffering heart of the child who killed it. I have not been absent, but neither have I been called, until now."

"What? That is not true!" Dumbledore protested, angrily, pushing Minerva aside so that he could descend the dias, approaching her as she neared the floor. "That is not true. Before I faced Voldemort, in the first war, I brought my White Court to Hogwarts. We took the throne, and we waited for your blessing, for your wisdom, but you never came."

"You came to Hogwarts." She murmured softly, her cool words carrying to throughout the hall as if whispered into every ear, "You took the throne. You waited for my wisdom, for blessing... but did you ask for it? You, in your self-esteemed wisdom, who were and are afraid yet of my gifts, you refused to even acknowledge me by the name I gave you to call upon me, refused to ask be for my wisdom, and refused to seek my blessing. Yes, you took the throne, but without my blessing... and without the gifts I would have given - seeking to gather them yourself behind my back."

At the headmaster's dumbfounded look, she shook her head, sighing. "it is you who are impertinent, not these children: you, who look outside yourself for blame for your previous failures, who cling to minor prophesies as an excuse for your failings and betrayals: you, who have failed in your duties who have been absent in your charges need - Not I, but I have wasted enough time on your pitiful sniveling. Away."

Dismissing him with a wave, she turned again to Longbottom, and smiled.

"Welcome, White King, to Haugr Wards, I bid you welcome, and bid you accept my hospitality; let Haugr Wards be your home, and your throne."


	19. Gifts of Magic

The thousands of minute colorful dragons, crawling over the invisible form of the 'Great Lady', giving the impression of her hair, gown, cape and crown- similarly reflected her disdain for the Headmaster turning their gazes away from him to study the 'court' that stood before her.

"And... what a handsome court you are." She repeated. "Well balanced in temperament: cautious and wild, patient and eager, reserved and effusive, grounded and mercurial. Balanced in strength and intellect, aggression and compassion, faith and fear... What a beautiful court you are: lead by a strong, White King, guided and protected by a cunning Queen, you have my blessing, indeed. For I have watched you, each, endure your trials and find you worthy. Most worthy. Step forward, Lady Rooks, to gain my gifts for you and take your station."

Lady Malfoy and Luna Lovegood stepped forward from each end of the line and moved to stand before her centered in the space between where their companions stood, the Great Lady, and the vacated chairs on the dais.

"Mercurial and Grounded, Lady Rooks, you do your court honor. Receive the gift of my sight. Narcissa, you who have seen only the darknesses of life, I give you the aspect of seeing what is light. None can hide from you their souls, for you will have the gift of recognizing what lies within the shadows. Luna, you, who have looked through the glass, but darkly, whom has seen but a small host of my creatures, may now see all. Blessed be your lives and know that you may call upon me by name, in need and without need."

Leaning over them, she kissed each on the forehead, and with a sudden wisp of apparation sent them into the seats at each end of the vacated chairs.

"White Knights, join us, faithful and fearful, both, hurt by those who should have protected you, protected by one who hated your fathers for love's sake and sought to curb you from their paths. Just as you share fears and hopes, the gifts I give you are to be shared between you: the first, a lifeline..." she paused, seeming to realize just then that they had only moved marginally closer, but not enough to stand directly in front of her as Luna and Narcissa had then sighed, "one forgets, sometimes, how boldness may mask caution, action - fear, and inaction - bravery;" With a smile that somehow seemed gentle, despite being formed by tiny living dragons, formed on the impression of her lips, she gestured them forward, "Come now, Young Knights, step forward; I have gifts to give." She continued, smiling more broadly when both boys looked to Longbottom, who nodded, before they moved forward. "Yes, having traveled dark paths to reach your court with none to light your way, let your King and Queen be True North, they will not willingly lead you astray."

When they stood just in front of her, she laid a hand on each of their vambraces, then pulled them away, trailing a stream of golden energy connecting them to her hands that she closed - joining the strands. "My first gift to you is a lifeline; when either fear the other lost, you may draw the line to you and lead them back to the path. My second gift is the paired sword and shield of your minds. It will take time, patience, and guidance to learn their use and they may only be used together, but you will need them in your arsenal. Blessed be Young Knights. Do not forget you are favored by Haugr Wards, your King, and your Queen. You may call upon us at will."

As she had before, she kissed their foreheads and with a soft wisp of sound heralding their apparittion, and the boys momentarily vanished to reappear in the chairs on the dais: Harry beside Luna and Draco beside Narcissa.

"Your servant Rooks and Knights are seated, White King," She announced formally, pausing when a gasp filtered through the hall as those who understood explained the significance of the term 'servant', and their audience recognized that the seated were Neville's slaves, or more specifically, the Boy-Who-Lived was Neville's slave. Draco and Narcissa were surprises as well, but before more speculation could be stirred up by the news, the 'Great Lady' overrode it with another announcement, "and I call forward your free counsels. Come forward, Bishops. Receive your gifts."

The rank of Bishops, in the magical world while known was almost as rare as the rank of King and Queen, and likely to have never been awarded to a low ranking pureblood, much less a muggle, yet Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger stepped forward without question or confusion marring their expressions, though their awe of the immaterial figure was clear.

"Strength and intellect, strategy and cunning, wild and cautious, you are well balanced and well favored by appointment. Though you have not suffered the trials of your companions you have demonstrated your worth beyond question and in time will provide great counsel to your monarchs for your empathy and observation have given you understanding beyond your years. Yours are the gifts of persuasion and restraint; let your King and Queen guide you in their use for they are practiced in both. Blessed be counsels. Call upon me when you would question your own counsel, and I will answer."

Kissing Ronald on his forehead, she chuckled lightly as he blushed and favored Hermione with a knowing smile as the girls serene expression momentarily slipped to an unhappy scowl. With a whisper of sound, they disappeared to their chairs, and she stood gazing at the remaining pair. Instead of calling them forward, however, she moved to them.

"What a pair you make," she praised them, her voice warm and rich with approval. "It has been ten generations since I have seen hearts such as yours, and have long considered the gifts that I should give. Wisdom and Cunning are well matched in you, as are knowledge and are skill, anything that you wish to have in these matters are within your reach, so need no gifts from me. You are human, but have few true flaws, that have not been learned from the cruelty of others and may thus be unlearned from the kindness of your mate. So what was there for me to give you, but that for which you have suffered most often, the recognition of your merit and deeds. You who have been looked upon and reviled for the false images you were made to present. My first gift is for the world to look upon you and recognize you for who you are..."

"White Queen ..." she paused, studying Severus Snape's expression as she raised her hands over his head, "Do not doubt me, though you think poorly of yourself, in my eyes and the eyes of your king, you are worthy. You have dedicated yourself to an unrequited love, whose subject had not the strength to bear your soul and rejected you without cause; thought nothing of putting yourself in jeopardy for the protection of those you vowed yourself to guard; and never allowed yourself to fail in your chosen duties - whether it meant placing yourself between a werewolf and the children in your charge or walking into death's shadow knowing that the Black King's unforgiving nature - to gather information for the light. You have proven yourself worthy of the White Queen's crown." 

As she lowered her hands on either side of his head, his jet black hair lengthened and glowed with an ebony light that brightened to a white gleam before settling over his shoulders and midway down his back. 

Turning to Longbottom, she commeded him, "White King, your requests are granted, the crown of Haugr Wards is yours, wear it with pride and let all who look upon it know that you are Haugr Ward's chosen."

After her proclamation, she repeated her gesture, with a satisfied nod, as Longbottom watched Severus's startled expression morphed with a light blush that made him look years younger, then thanked her quietly. 

"My second gift to you is, each, a boon. You need not speak it aloud for it to be answered, nor fear asking anything of me. There are matters I may not grant, but you need not fear the asking." 

She paused, meeting their eyes, and after a moment shook her head sighing, "I should not be surprised, and though I may not grant your boons, their selflessness honors you. Take your throne my Blessed children. I will think longer on my second gifts, and they will come to you in time. In the meantime, take your place on the throne of Haugr Wards, your kingdom awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small note in case anyone's surprised that Snape is the white queen... it is a bit of a play on words, but Severus is probably just dramatic enough to pull it off, and anyway, as will be noted later, the history of the white king is not without its female kings (Elizabeth, for example).
> 
> I don't usually apologize for short chapters, but there was a lot of foreshadowing that I wanted to filter through, and was afraid it would get lost if I threw in some of the upcoming action as well.


End file.
